Shantih
by Big Bird
Summary: I still can't reconcile the mature Ed with the child-Ed in my mind can I? I'm such a fool.." A new beginning, a new look at each other. Eventual RoyxEd. Warnings: language, violence
1. The Cruellest Month

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs solely to the genius who created it, not to me.

Author's note: This idea that occurred to me looks to be a very looooong story so hopefully I will be able to carry it off sufficiently, since I've never written such a long piece before. Please endure through it folks, and drop a review for complaints, so I can make the later chapters better for you guys. Thanks!

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Book One: Burial of the Dead

Chapter one:

Brigadier General and Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang fought back a yawn as he strode briskly down the corridor of Central's military headquarters towards his office. The late afternoon sun, streaming in comfortably through the open windows, enticed him to curl up in a warm beam like a languid kitten, worn out as he was by the meeting he had just emerged from.

Normally, even after a long day, it would have been characteristic of Roy to saunter lazily down the hallway, wearing a look of utter indolence on his smirking, confident face, not allowing any trace of weakness to show, but today was different.

Running a careless hand through his soft black hair, Roy frowned, recalling the worrying issue that Generalissimo Farrell had raised during the meeting.

_Another State Alchemist. Dead. No, murdered. In the same ritualistic manner as the rest._

A cold shiver rattled Roy's spine up and down. He had seen one of the bodies, and had no wish to ever encounter such a dreadful sight ever again. The poor man had been neatly and dispassionately dissected, like an anatomical diagram. Slit from throat to crotch, the organs, still attached to the body by major blood vessels and other organic pipes, had been laid around the body, extending outwards like the petals of a gruesome flower.

Worst of all, each of the four State Alchemists had his skull carefully divested of its top half, and the brains had been removed. Stolen. Autopsy revealed another grisly detail: the men had still been alive when these atrocities had been performed on them.

_Blood. So much of it._

Normally a man of cool poise and unshakeable composure, an attitude that worked with his pale-featured good looks to incense women to fight amongst themselves for the honour of throwing themselves at his feet, the unflappable Flame Alchemist had almost regurgitated his lunch there and then.

Even remembering it, Roy had to glance at his reflection in one of the windows, expecting to see his own face degenerate mysteriously into a macabre skull.

Only sharp black eyes, set in a smooth, fine-featured face framed by floppy dark hair, stared back at him. He did not need to glance downwards to know that his dark blue military uniform was in perfect condition, the collar stiff and straight, the loops of the gold braid impeccable arches against his coat.

He had to thank his lucky stars that the Generalissimo had not deigned to assign him the investigation of these murders; if he had, Roy was not sure how long his stomach and his sanity could hold out for. What he had just been briefed on, however, was just as important. Roy had a long mission ahead of him.

With a fatigued sigh, Roy pushed open his office door to reveal a figure silhouetted against the sky that his office window opened to, contemplating the parade grounds below. The figure was the owner of a pair of powerful shoulders, neatly bisected by a gleaming golden braid that fell partway down the figure's back, resting on the black leather of the coat that it wore. A dark hood lay pushed back, flopping open to reveal silky red lining.

Beneath it, only partly obstructed by golden strands and the long white fur trim of the hood, was a symbol of a snake twined around a cross, tooled in glowing crimson: the distinct icon of the Elric brothers.

"Fullmetal," Roy said, closing the door behind him.

At the sound of his voice, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, turned his head so that it was in three-quarter profile to the Brigadier General, allowing the sun's rays to illuminate the planes and hollows of a face that had grown even more finely chiseled by maturity, yet still carried that determination and daring that the Fullmetal was so famous for.

The beam of light fell directly across Edward's eyes, throwing shadows on the upper halves of the tawny irises, and irradiating the other halves, leaving two gleaming crescents in the Elric's face that had taken on the quality of amber glass lit up from within.

Those eyes, so wide in earlier years, were still large, but had narrowed with all that the youth had seen and everything he had sought to forget. Even there, slouched and relaxed and at ease, Ed still carried that indelible aura of pain and loss, an aura that only those who had seen far too much could possess. Until he had met Edward, Roy had found that melancholic quality only in men who had been to war and been caught in the worst of it. And Edward radiated it so strongly.

As always, Roy kept the compassion out of his face. Not seeing the boy -no, the young man, now- for almost two years, his sudden appearance had nearly caught him off-guard. Yet…it was still easy to tread those old, worn paths of hiding from the Elric, protecting him with cold silence. The mask slid down and set his features in perfect arrangement once again.

"Sir," Edward said, turning to face his superior fully, seemingly simultaneously comfortable in a familiar setting, and terse in the presence of the bane of his life, Roy Mustang. This gave Roy the opportunity to observe the other changes that had occurred in the Fullmetal's appearance during the two years he had been away.

Other than the coat, the rest of Ed's garments had altered only slightly. The Fullmetal's taste had definitely become more refined; the silver piping on the black undercoat had narrowed to a slender ribbon, whilst the brazen metal clasp that used to grace the Fullmetal's throat had been replaced by another of a more delicate and intricate design.

Besides that, however, the black tank, black leather pants and wide belt still stood out as sharply and familiarly as before against the scarlet interior of Ed's coat. The body it concealed had changed slightly too, now leaner than before, though it was still slight, and was still fitted with an automail arm and leg, souvenirs of the sin that the boy had committed seven years before.

Pristine white gloves flashed as Edward jerked his hands in an appropriate salute, his eyes still guarded and his manner as curt as Roy remembered. Like his clothes, the Fullmetal had developed, but essentially not changed.

Roy raised an elegant eyebrow at the youth.

"What brings you to Central with such speed? Solsa is a full day's journey away," he inquired, moving to settle in his chair behind his desk.

"The train ride doesn't take as long as you think," Ed replied innocently, apparently occupied with a crack in the ceiling. Roy allowed a moment of silence between them.

"Yes," he finally said, as if he had been deep in thought, "Constancia certainly _is_ a nice place for a short holiday."

Ed reddened visibly. "Never heard of the place, sir," he replied with a futile attempt at lofty dignity.

"Pity. I don't suppose you would have any idea about the overnight evaporation of an entire forest there?" Roy allowed a trickle of cool sarcasm to tinge his voice.

"At least it revealed the illegal slave trade routes and hideouts," Ed grumbled sullenly, flopping down onto the office sofa that sat in front of Roy's desk. Roy suppressed a grin: yes, the Fullmetal had not changed.

Edward turned to glare at Roy once again.

"What was the big idea, anyway? Dumping me in one place for two whole years to sift through alchemical garbage…how could you ever expect anyone to stay still?!" he burst out.

_Oh, I never expected you to stay still. You never could._

Roy examined his fingernails with a negligent air as he spoke. "You were meant to be researching their alchemical properties, and supervise their extraction, in case you failed to realize. Well, at least you pretended to follow orders for about three months before embarking on your exploration of the rest of the North. How is Alphonse, by the way?"

The Fullmetal scowled and brushed back blond strands from his face.

"He's fine, been helping around with Aunt Pinako and Winry in the workshop. Automail production sure is faster with the help of alchemy. I was only there for a couple of weeks anyway." Ed's voice softened. "Rizenbul was always the perfect place for him."

At eighteen years of age, when most older brothers were trying to put millions of miles between themselves and their younger siblings, Edward instead spoke about his little brother with ill-concealed concern and affection, their past experiences imbuing their brotherly love with a potency that had engulfed their personal dreams and spanned two worlds.

It reminded Roy painfully of his old friend. A man who knew how to love. A man who truly treasured his family, and unlike others was never afraid to show it. A man who took the young Elric brothers under his wing and guided them with subtle gestures. A man who held friendship so dear he would have given his life for it.

_Had_ given his life for it.

Roy's fingers twitched, as if to turn the framed photograph on his desk onto its face. _Why do I see you, Maes, in this boy?_

Raising his eyes from his old friend's face, Roy glanced at the Fullmetal Alchemist, whose eyes had darkened contemplatively as he fiddled with his State Alchemist watch, flicking the lid up and snapping it shut again repetitively, striking up a steady rendition of rhythmic clicks. Then, Ed shook himself out of his reverie and his eyes snapped into focus again.

"So, Brigadier General Bastard, what am I doing back here again after so long? Has your charm dwindled so much that you need mine to rub off on you so that you can start attracting the ladies again?"

"Hardly, Fullmetal. Besides, your charm only extends as far as your height, in which case you could only hope to enchant from six inches off the ground," Roy replied dryly, only the faintest hint of a smirk flirting with the corners of his mouth. Five minutes in the office after two years of abstinence, and they were already falling back into the old pattern of playing their usual game.

"I am NOT a microscopic bacteria crawling about on the damn floor!" Ed snarled, hands angrily gripping the sofa arm and back. Jibes regarding his height (or rather his lack of it) were never taken lightly, and of all who knew him well, only the Flame Alchemist dared tease him about it.

"No, I never implied that you were as insignificant as that. A bean, Fullmetal, would be more apt," Roy continued nonchalantly, shuffling through the papers that lay before him. Finally, entertainment for the evening. Judging by what was pending, he would need plenty of such distractions.

A white gloved hand landed smack in the middle of the report Roy was pretending to scan through, and he looked up indifferently into the fuming face of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Suddenly, Roy realized that Ed had grown in height, slightly; he was now about the same height as Captain Riza Hawkeye, an estimation drawn from the angle at which he was bent over the table (said observation made possible by the number of times Riza had leaned over to shove a sheaf of reports under his nose).

"DON'T CALL ME SHORT!!!" Ed yelled, "I didn't drag my damn ass all the way to bloody Central just to be insulted by an asshole who's still chasing skirts like a hormonal adolescent!"

"If I recall correctly, Fullmetal, skirts chase _me_. As for hormonal adolescents, is that not the role _you_ fill? Oh, my apologies, you evidently haven't hit your growth spurt yet," Roy continued, ignoring the fury on Ed's face, "and if you will excuse me, I have work to do."

"Work," Ed growled, "is exactly why I'm here. If you care to stop admiring your reflection in the table gloss, you might want to let me know about the 'important mission' mentioned in your wire."

In all honesty, Roy hadn't had any idea what the mission entailed when he had telegraphed Ed the previous day. Generalissimo Farrell had just requested that the Fullmetal specifically be brought along for this particular assignment. Now, however, Roy was aware of the details, and he realized Ed would be dead bored during the mission.

Oh well.

Roy cocked an eyebrow at the young man, who had visibly calmed since the conversation had turned to work.

"Forgive me Fullmetal, but I never knew you were such a workaholic. You eagerness to return was hardly expected."

Ed slumped back onto the sofa and stretched lazily, the same quick, feline gesture that Roy had been so tempted to imitate earlier. "I'm bored, General. I needed entertainment after being stuck in that dull place for so long. I have learned to value the adventure that assignments bring," he added mischievously.

Roy only shrugged indolently. "You simply have to wait till tomorrow, when the details are all hashed out and in print. Is it too much to ask of you to lay low for a day? Lower than you already are, I mean."

"General, I'm warning you. I was handling fire in the North, so if you want to spar, you might be biting off more than you can chew."

"What, such a small mouthful?"

"Winry had to fit me with larger automail parts. I'm not minuscule anymore."

"Still short. A bean is a bean, whether it is a larger bean or a smaller one."

"Be careful sir, your foundation is starting to oxidize and discolor…"

Roy snorted.

"It's all because of your foul presence, Fullmetal. Your departure would set all aright again."

"Don't tell me that the wonderful Flame Alchemist doesn't know _something_."

"I am well aware of the details of our assignment, Fullmetal. Patience is a virtue, if you realize. Go bunk with Gracia if you're so afraid of getting raped in the barracks."

Ed laid a hand on his automail arm.

"I'd like to see someone try."

"Well then, see how it goes tonight, and return tomorrow."

Ed sighed audibly, and rose from the sofa.

"I'm only letting you off for one night, okay? No slacking tomorrow," Ed said lightly.

"Me, slack? That's something new," Roy returned, leaning back in his chair, "Don't be late, Fullmetal. There's a meeting at nine thirty, and if you really _are _as eager as you appear to be, you won't want to miss it."

Edward dipped his head in a formal bow, saluted, and left, closing the door softly behind him.

The General hadn't changed one bit; everything was familiar, right down to their friendly repartee. As he headed towards the office where Havoc, Hawkeye, Fury, Breda and Farman were, Edward thought about how good it felt to be back home.

-------------------------------------------------

The twilight sky was darkening swiftly as Roy finally managed to fully rouse himself, and when he sat up, he had to pluck away the document that had somehow gotten itself stuck to his forehead. Definitely not a great day.

"Finally, General," Hawkeye muttered from beside him, where she had been standing to shake him awake. Roy yawned and reached up to scratch his head; sleep was such a luxury these days. Now that the Fullmetal was back again, he knew he would probably be getting less of it. And no surprise. That boy could never keep his butt rooted in one place for very long.

"Is Havoc still in?" Roy asked, once he had discreetly divested himself of the crusted saliva on his chin.

"He left at six. As did almost everyone else. I think the men have all gone to dinner together with the Fullmetal to catch up on two years' worth of news. I'm afraid you will actually have to get some exercise tonight, General," Hawkeye replied with a hint of amusement.

Roy groaned inwardly; he was too used to being driven around by Havoc.

_Well, a bit of activity wouldn't hurt. Might actually help._

"Thank you Hawkeye. You are dismissed," Roy murmured, pulling the military coat he had earlier abandoned for comfort's sake over his white shirt, "why didn't you go with them, anyway?"

"Well, if I had, you would have been here all night, I'm sure. Besides, why would I intrude on a men's night out?" Hawkeye's voice was dry; the woman was as much a part of the guys as Edward. It was just that she was just like Hughes, one of those who was forever playing mother hen to Roy.

Roy raised his eyes to meet hers, and caught their flicker of concern, which evaporated faster than it had appeared

For a moment, Roy was tempted to reach out and tenderly tuck Riza's soft blonde fringe behind her ear. The familiar gesture that would be their undoing.

"I'll lock up, Captain. It's all right, I'll take a while to get my things in order. You may go first." Roy said, turning away and scraping together the papers that lay on his desk.

Hawkeye didn't leave immediately, but Roy resolutely refused to turn back, to talk to her some more. He wanted to tell her, I'm hurting as much as you are, I wish it had been different, but that would only open the Pandora's Box within him.

A minute of silence passed, then he heard the door close behind Riza.

After consolidating all the material he needed to examine back home, Roy lightly touched the photograph on his table as a way of saying goodnight, and lingered for a minute, enjoying the faint glow of warmth he felt, as if Hughes was actually there with him again, 'meddling' in Roy's business once more.

_Wish you were here, old friend._

With that final thought floating through the air, Roy flicked off the office lights and strode out of the room.

The streets were bathed in darkness by the time he emerged from the plush white building that housed the headquarters, lit only by streetlamps and the lights that streamed out of the windows of the headquarters. It being a Friday night, Roy was certain that no taxi would be empty for him, so he took to trudging resolutely down the street, jingling his silver watch in his pocket as he walked.

For a moment he considered joining the other men for dinner and maybe some drinks. They always ate at the same place, the little corner restaurant just a few blocks down. Roy had many memories of that place, not least of all because he and Hughes used to frequent it, always settling at the wall end of the bar for their drinks whenever they wanted to catch up. It was a cozy little place, and Roy was sick of emptiness.

However, when Roy came to the turning there, he found that an invisible force seemed to be holding him back from that particular lane. He had not been there for three years, and still could not bear to. He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to hole up in his apartment and never emerge ever again. Everyone around him…they only reminded him that no one else was Hughes.

_"We can make a real decent man out of that kid."_

That's what Hughes had told him about Ed; Roy had agreed immediately. The Fullmetal's suffering had not made him impervious to it, like it did to so many others, but rather sharpened his sensitivity towards others'. He would champion a hero's cause, and stick steadfastly to it.

When Ed had come to them, he had already been half that sort of man. Now, he quite possibly fully was. Hughes' ambition had been fully realized. In that respect.

_I didn't fulfill my end, no matter how hard he pushed to clear the way for me to._

Roy had to admit to himself that the drive to work hard at scaling the military ladder was only a constant, painful reminder of Hughes and his sacrifice. It was a worthy cause that they, as idealistic young men, had dreamed up, and Hughes had believed in it enough to endanger himself. Yet, Roy could see no point in it any longer.

Furthermore, with the Parliament now holding power over the military, achieving that goal was an impossibility, and rendered redundant anyhow. Bitterly, Roy thought about the fact that he had not gotten a promotion in three years.

Unable to stand at the entrance to that street for a moment longer, Roy turned down a different lane, cutting through a narrow alley to get to the next street.

_Hughes, in all your perceptiveness, would you ever have predicted this? Edward, turning out exactly as we wished to mold him, but you dying, and me, ending up tired, bitter, and so jaded?_

_There was nothing left to live for after that, really. My life work was done: bringing better governance to the people of this country, taking care of the Elric brothers, and avenging you. And now, the thing with Riza…_

_I've lost steam, old friend. No fuel left to burn._

Roy rounded a bend, staring serenely up at the star-splattered sky. A terrible sense of emptiness engulfed him, strangely contradicting the furious boil of emotion behind his ribcage, and Roy felt the little tentacles of madness brush him, threatening to take over.

He could not let his self control slip, he reminded himself, and he forced himself to quell the rising conflict in him.

It was then that he felt a sharp prickle on the back of his neck.

Instinct.

Something was not quite right. Immediately, he became more alert, throwing off his cloak of sadness and sharpening his every sense to pinpoint any source of danger within the alley.

_Damn. Too many years in the office, and I'm losing my edge. Get sharp Roy._

Without missing a beat, he continued on his way down the alley, then abruptly stopped and turned around.

Nothing.

He still could not shake the feeling of being followed. Squinting into the darkness, he swept his eyes over the shadows of the metal bins and garbage bags dispersed through out the alleyway behind him, trying to gauge if any was large enough to be human. Fruitlessly.

Still, from experience, Roy knew enough not to ignore his instincts. There was something amiss here. The image of the murdered alchemist popped into his mind's eye.

The shadows grew longer, crawling maliciously up the walls as if to mock him, and Roy began to silently berate himself.

He was too distracted, too caught up in the past to pay enough attention to the present. Three years ago, he would have been keener and sharper, would not have allowed himself to make such a mistake. Entering a dark alleyway that curved out of sight of people on the streets, without waiting to see if his gut told him anything.

_Damn. Damn it all._

Roy scanned the alley one more time, then began to turn back to face forward again. Best to get out of here as soon as possible.

The only warning was a soft scuff of a foot against the ground.

Something hard and heavy struck his shoulders from behind. Roy fell to the ground, the impact jolting his hands and knees and traveling painfully up to his spine. He threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding the second downswing of the heavy weapon.

_Fool! He was not behind you, he was _in front!!

The heavy club slammed into the ground just next to Roy's torso, allowing Roy a second to take in his attacker's appearance. Tall, bulky, very muscular, features concealed by the hooded cloak that he wore, which was patterned with strange symbols.

Roy brought up his hand to snap, preparing to incinerate the poor bastard. The minute he felt the smooth material between his fingers, however, Roy realized that he was not wearing his ignition gloves.

A spurt of fear chilled him. He rolled quickly out of range and leapt nimbly to his feet…and nearly bumped into another figure looming behind him.

From the newcomer's demeanor, Roy knew that he was no kindly rescuer. The man swiftly reached out and tugged away Roy's silver watch, snapping the chain as easily as if it were made of string, then raised a fist to knock Roy down.

Roy dodged the blow, now feeling a thread of panic force itself into his skull. A quick glance around revealed that he was surrounded, all five of his attackers identically dressed.

_Where the fuck did all of them come from?! Were they all hiding around the corner??_

There was no time to reach into his pocket and pull out his ignition gloves. In the split second that he did so, three of the thugs could pulverize him. And to take all of them on in hand-to-hand combat would be suicide.

"Come quietly, blasphemer, or we shall have to take you by force," one of the men said in a deep baritone voice that was thick with a strange accent, hefting his club menacingly.

_Not a chance._

Swiftly, Roy snatched up and flung one of the trash can lids at an attacker. While the man was distracted by the flimsy projectile, Roy rushed forward to kick out at his feet.

His foot connected with a solid column of flesh, and the man fell over with a heavy grunt. Before the attacker hit the concrete, Roy pushed off from the ground and drove his fist into the man's face, changing his momentum.

Quickly, Roy spun on one foot to drive his elbow into another attacker's face. However, he had no time to fend off the third attacker who was already leaping at him.

A heavy punch caught him on the side of his head, and Roy's world exploded with stars. His body followed his head in an uncontrollable whirl, and Roy stumbled back, colliding painfully with the wall.

A warm trickle of blood ran down his jaw, and he could taste its metallic juice on his tongue. Without his gloves, Roy knew he would never be able to handle all of them at once.

Bracing himself against the cold, hard bricks, Roy grimly prepared to resume his futile attempt at defending himself.


	2. A Heap of Broken Images

Author's note: Hello everybody and thank you all for waiting! There's something screwed up about my computer and it's been refusing to upload my stories. But anyway, it's decided to be nice this time, so here's the second chapter of Book One. Hope you guys enjoy it!

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Chapter two: 

"Oh really? Man, Havoc, you could never hang on to a girl!" Ed chuckled, leaning back in his seat as Havoc grinned sheepishly over his glass of whiskey, blushing slightly. Was it the alcohol, or was it the story that was making him turn red?

_Probably both,_ Ed thought with a grin.

"Hey, hey!" Havoc protested, "I'm not that bad!"

"But not that great either, that's for sure!" Farman guffawed, mussing up Havoc's ash blond hair with a careless hand.

"What do _you_ know, you gray-haired bat!" Havoc retorted playfully, lightly shoving Farman away from him. Farman smirked and flicked Havoc neatly between the eyebrows.

"More than you, Junior," he laughed.

"At least Havoc fares better than I do," Fury ventured thoughtfully, if a little softly, slightly awkward as always in a social situation.

Breda turned to Ed, his round face flushed by the alcohol in his gin and tonic. "How about you, eh Ed? You're the one in the prime of his youth," he asked, nudging the Fullmetal with his meaty elbow mischievously.

Ed held up his hands in front of him.

"Oh nothing, nothing! Honest! I really haven't had a girl yet," he denied frantically, almost knocking over his own drink in his desperation.

Farman pretended to be deep in thought.

"Wasn't there a little blond beauty from Rizenbul?"

Ed raised an eyebrow at Farman before replying, "Hey, you've got it all wrong, my good sir. Winry, she's just like a sister, that's all!"

"I'm sure there's someone, Boss. You tell us, so we can keep the lady killing General far away from her for you," Havoc said conspiratorially, leaning over the table towards Ed with his finger at his lips, a ridiculous parody of absolute secrecy. Edward clicked his tongue in a mock-disapproving manner.

"You guys…you're like women gossiping at the meat market!" he complained, "And geez, how am I supposed to say anything anyway, since I've never been with a girl!"

Farman threw his head back and laughed almost raucously.

"Not a girl…? Did I really hear that! Never knew you were bent that way, Ed. Rest of us gotta watch our asses now…"

Breda hopped up and pretended to be trying to crawl away from Ed, crying, "Help! Don't rape me, sir!" This particular antic earned him a sharp rap of steel on the back of his head.

"Watch it Farman. Or I just might have to acquaint you with the wall over there," Ed shot back at Farman, throwing the older man a mock-dangerous look.

"Awww…you're no fun," Havoc grumbled as he took another sip of his whiskey.

"I don't believe you, anyway," Farman said suspiciously, "good-looking kid like you, and no girl? Bullshit."

"Believe it," was all Ed said, tossing back the last of his rum. He had almost forgotten how funny the guys could be. All their good-natured jibes and teasing were comfortably familiar to him, and his fears that something would change and leave him lying in the dust fell away from him like an empty shell.

With a satisfied sigh, he slammed the glass lightly onto the table again. "Let's call it a night, shall we? The General hinted that it might be a pretty long day tomorrow."

They finished their drinks and paid for their dinner, swinging out the door in a bubble of laughter into the cool night.

"Not in the barracks tonight, Mr. Alchemist?" they teased.

"Naw, I'm staying with Gracia. So sorry about abandoning you for tonight, my darlings," Ed teased back, heading down the other side of the street, "Bye, see ya in the morning!"

Slinging his battered suitcase over his shoulder, Ed turned and started off down the street, hoping for an empty cab to come driving by. However, the street was small enough that few cars ever entered it, being one of those little side streets that were mainly for pedestrians' use.

_It'll be easier to get a cab from the main street near the Central HQ._

With that thought in mind, Ed turned the corner and crossed the street, heading directly for the little alleyway that he remembered to be a shortcut to the other side.

_Alicia should be about six now, I think. Wonder whether she actually remembers me, she was so small. Thank goodness they didn't change their telephone number, otherwise I might never have gotten Gracia…_

Ed suddenly stopped short before entering the alleyway.

_Something's going on in here._

Despite forever being told that he was too much of a little busybody, the Fullmetal Alchemist could never let any sleeping dog he stumbled across lie, provided it was a dog that was almost certainly a threat to others. And here he was, sensing potential danger.

Ignoring it was the last thing he would ever do.

The fingers of his flesh arm twitched in anticipation and tension, and Edward stepped softly into the alleyway with all the lethal cool and keen alertness of a mountain lion.

-

Roy fell back, his head ringing from another blow from one of the attackers, the strength ebbing from his arms and legs, the pains a constant obstacle to movement.

_Focus._

With iron control, Roy tried to push the burning sensations out of his mind, as he had done so often with emotion.

But then, the same trick that worked on his feelings could not work with pain. Whereas with emotions, he could shut down that part of him and operate as a separate contraption, here he had to force his body to ignore its injuries, all the while trying to make it perform correctly.

He tried to roll away, but a sharp pain originating from his side seized his entire body, almost forcing him to curl up on his side. He knew that he could not last much longer.

_You've survived much worse than this before. You can handle these men. They are mere humans, whose injuries affect them as much as they affect you._

_Bullshit._

He had to find a way to fight back.

One of the burly men grabbed Roy and shoved him facedown to the ground, pinning his left arm painfully behind him so that Roy had to bite back a sharp cry. With all his strength, Roy reared back, using the back of his head to smack the other man flat on the nose, causing the man to weaken his hold slightly. However, the man did not release him entirely, still hanging on tightly enough that Roy could not break free.

"Knock him out, quick!" he heard someone say.

_Damn it!_

Roy began to wriggle like a trapped snake, using his movement as a form of distraction from what his left hand was doing, which was to inch its way into his right pocket from its position across his back.

_Almost…_

Roy's fingers could barely reach inside, but their tips brushed lightly against a thin but rough cloth. His ignition gloves.

_Almost…_

The Flame Alchemist strained even harder, feeling the excruciating pull on his muscles

Too late. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy watched as the bulkiest of the men raised the club, and braced himself for the blow that would surely follow.

It never came.

At first, Roy mistook the brilliant blue flash for the effect of the impact of the club on his skull, but he was still conscious. And his head had not hurt one bit. In addition, he was still perfectly lucid.

One more thing. The man astride him and the one with the club were both knocked aside by a sudden and violent swelling of the wall by which he lay.

"Huh. You really haven't lost your charm, General; if anything, it's increased, now that you're actually attracting men. Somehow I doubt it really works to your advantage," Edward snorted contemptuously from where he stood, his coat swirling impressively around him, a sarcastic angel come to save Roy.

Roy had to draw several labored breaths before he could speak.

"Why, jealous, Fullmetal?"

"If it gets you into scrapes like this? Not at all."

One of the attackers began belting out rapid instructions in a strange tongue, and the men quickly scrambled to their feet and spread out to face the two alchemists.

With a smile, Roy discarded his ordinary gloves and extracted the ones from his pocket, the red arrays almost glowing on them. It felt good to finally pull them on again.

"You done, General? Then we're all good to go," Ed said, clapping his hands together. Azure light filled the alleyway, and Ed stood with an elegant blade gleaming on his right arm. As _part _of his arm.

The men shifted uncomfortably, as though realizing that this was too much for them to handle. Roy and Ed, however, were too fast.

Roy snapped his fingers, causing a lance of fire to streak its way towards the attackers. It was enough to stun, but not to kill. Never to kill.

The men threw themselves to the ground and rolled away, and in the midst of the confusion, Ed leapt forward, blade flashing through the air. One attacker, however, had his wits still about him. With a swift arm, he swung a trash can lid at Ed, which threw the Fullmetal Alchemist off course.

The leader barked off a sharp command, and reaching into his cloak he flung a small blue sphere at the two alchemists, which exploded in a profusion of thick smoke, blinding the two men and causing their eyes to water.

"Bloody hell, smoke bomb," Roy muttered, dropping to the ground and quickly adjusting the composition of the air to clear the smoke.

Slowly, the smoke thinned and dispersed to merge seamlessly with the cool night air. However, the men were already gone.

Together, Roy and Edward raced out the other end of the alleyway, bursting out onto a largely empty street. The men were gone.

"Damn it. They had one last card to play," Ed snarled, turning to race up one part of the street.

"They're probably hiding out in one of these buildings. They couldn't have run off so quickly," Roy called out, running his hands over the door of the building by which he stood. Locked.

_Those men…they were the ones who've been murdering State Alchemists. I am sure of it._

One of them…he'd called Roy a 'blasphemer'.

_Reminds me of Scar, with his arrayed arm and Ishvarian ideals. Except that Scar is gone, his life given up to the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, along with countless others. And his murders were rough decompositions of the victims through crude alchemy._

These murders were different. Totally different.

Now that the adrenaline was receding from his system, the damage that Roy had sustained began to make itself felt. The Flame Alchemist gasped and clutched his side, and when Ed whirled to stare at him, Roy thought he could see real concern in his eyes.

"Sir…" Ed breathed.

Roy frowned and tried to brush him off. "I'm fine, Fullmetal. I just need to get home."

"The hospital is where you are going. Not home just yet," Ed said firmly.

It was a serious blow to Roy's pride to have to be dragged into the hospital on the arm of his underling, the famous Fullmetal Alchemist, as if he were an incompetent casualty off some battlefield somewhere. That was already bad enough, yet the Fullmetal was also ignoring Roy's commands to contact Generalissimo Farrell.

"Call him. Immediately!" he snapped at Ed even whilst the doctor was checking him for broken ribs and swabbing his wounds with antiseptic.

"Relax, General. I will, it's just that you need to take care of yourself first," Ed drawled back at him, lounging comfortably against the hospital room window, with all the arrogance of confident youth.

The doctor nodded. "I agree with that young man, sir. You shouldn't aggravate your condition." The Fullmetal flashed him a triumphant, all-knowing smirk. Roy returned it with a glare meant to melt steel. Their gazes clashed above the doctor's bald-egg head, but Roy soon found himself too fatigued to continue the staring match.

"Hmph," he conceded, wincing only slightly as hydrogen peroxide was swirled across the torn skin of his back.

_Remember the pain, Roy. You always overestimate your capacity to withstand pain. Remember the agony now, so you can think again next time._

"Are you done? Can I go now?" Roy asked the doctor when he was neatly bandaged, and the nurse was disposing of the blood-soaked cotton pads. His head was ringing loudly and he simply wanted to clear up things with the Generalissimo and go to bed. To his amazement, the doctor shook his head: no.

"You've hit your head real bad, and we can't be sure that there was no real damage to the skull. We'd like to keep you here for a night. It's best for us to monitor you till tomorrow morning," the doctor said firmly.

Roy gritted his teeth angrily.

"What the hell? I have something important I have to do, and -"

"Chill, General. Why're you so tense? Relax," Ed said quietly, appearing at Roy's side, looking slightly disconcerted at Roy's uncharacteristic loss of composure. Roy had known the Fullmetal long enough to infer that particular expression simply from the note of puzzlement that graced his voice, and did not have to turn around to be granted that revelation.

If the Fullmetal was beginning to worry about him, the stress must be showing real badly.

Recognizing that he was severely shaken by the attack, Roy fought to quell his rising frustration, shaking his head to clear it. The throbbing pain only intensified.

_Oh fuck it._

Taking a deep breath, Roy calmed himself. Reached for blue skies and cool waters that were, in reality, beyond his reach. It was no use getting all worked up over nothing; it _was_ nothing, really.

"Fullmetal," he said in a quieter, less heated voice, "please call the Generalissimo and tell him I have to speak to him. Immediately."

The calmness seemed to work. Edward gave a small salute, nodded, and left the room to make the call.

Meanwhile, Roy was negotiated into a set of loose hospital pajamas and ushered into one of the wards by the young nurse who had gone all puppy-eyed since being in close proximity to him.

"Oh General, please be careful next time. It would be a pity to lose such a military figure as yourself," she simpered, fussing with the sheets of his bed , even insisting on tucking him in like a small child.

Roy ground his teeth and tried not to appear too sullen. Normally, he would have smirked at her foolishness and basked in the flattery of her attentions, but Roy was ultimately pissed off. At her, at the attackers, at Edward, at himself. Definitely a bad day.

Just as the nurse's over-zealous ministrations were coming dangerously close to setting a spark to the kindling of his temper, Edward entered, the Generalissimo trailing close behind him.

"Sir," Roy quickly saluted in the most dignified way possible while sitting propped up on fluffy pillows in thin white pajamas.

Farrell signaled to Roy to drop his hand, and Roy obeyed.

"My apologies, Brigadier General. I have to say that even in your current condition, you still have to carry out the assignment I have entrusted you with. It is of great importance, and I can think of no better man to do it."

"Yes sir. I will be reporting as usual tomorrow."

The Generalissimo nodded. "Be careful not to overstrain yourself. You are of utmost importance, and the Parliament needs you to be at your sharpest."

"I owe it to my men," Roy replied, vaguely aware of the Fullmetal Alchemist attempting to melt into the surroundings so that he could soak up every drop of information possible from the conversation.

Farrell examined Roy keenly for a second, a look of satisfaction and approval on his face, before nodding again.

"Now, Mustang, a low-down of what just happened."

Briefly, Roy related an account of the attack, quickly bringing up the details that he felt were of some significance: the cloaks, the accents, the fact that they had actually relieved him of his silver watch as soon as possible.

"I believe that we are encountering a group that is not really against the military, as suggested in the meeting earlier, but one that is operating on a principle that greatly resembles the Ishvarian beliefs, that alchemy is an evil practice, but who are not Ishvarian. Their accents were different, and besides, the Ishvarians would hardly make such a bold move, since they are still under such close military surveillance after Scar's activities in the past.

"In addition, the murders were committed randomly, with no real connections between the alchemists, but the way in which they were found points towards an almost ceremonial form of execution. The group's objective is the practice of alchemy itself, not the alchemists," Roy finished, voicing his own thoughts on the events that had passed.

Farrell began to carefully stroke his moustache, the characteristic gesture which indicated that he was deep in thought.

"So…" he finally began, "we rule out religious fundamentalism, since there are no existing religions that are against alchemy other than that of the Ishvarian people. And we rule out political opposition because it isn't an attack aimed at weakening military power, otherwise the attackers would have tried to take out the most powerful of alchemists already. That doesn't leave us with many options, General Mustang."

"All the better, is it not?" Roy replied with an arched eyebrow.

"It eliminates the two most likely reasons for these attacks that General Harvey and myself could come up with. Now all the threads that we have been following have to be dropped.

"The information is confusing, too. The method of killing was like a religious ritual, what with the body parts arranged in such a way. Yet…" Farrell scratched his head confusedly, "I shall have to explore this further with General Harvey. General Mustang, do not worry yourself over this matter; you have your own assignment to worry about next."

Roy inclined his head in agreement. "Yes sir."

The Generalissimo nodded, and swept out of the hospital ward.

With an exhausted hiss, Roy finally allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow. It had been a long, bad day for him.

_My God. I nearly died, for fuck's sake._

Death and dying, even when he no longer had a reason to truly live, evidently did not appeal to him.

_We humans are such sick, cowardly creatures, _Roy thought bitterly, allowing his lashes to slide down over his eyes to filter out the harsh overhead lights. He was so disturbed that it took him a moment to remember Edward, perched on the edge of the adjacent bed. Even then, it was the intensity of the Fullmetal's stare that roused him to the youth's presence.

"Fullmetal. It's been a long night. Go to bed, wherever that may be," Roy commanded, not bothering to open his eyes.

Ed didn't answer for a moment, simply sitting in the same spot, his unwavering gaze trained directly on Roy. The silence ticked by uncomfortably, but Roy forced himself to remain still. If he was ignored enough, maybe the Fullmetal would disappear.

"You getting old, General? That wasn't quite the performance I would have expected from you, Mr. Flame Alchemist," Ed finally said, apparently totally unperturbed at being ignored. As usual, the Fullmetal had adopted his typical bantering tone, yet it was clear to Roy that the question behind it was very real.

_'What the hell's wrong with you?'_

"Well, it seems that apart from you, some people actually _do_ grow," Roy managed, hoping to deflect any further probing. The sooner Edward left, the sooner Roy could get round to trying to forget.

Edward snorted.

"Sure, Grandpa, let me get your dentures for you."

It was evident that Edward didn't believe Roy, and Roy noted that even the attempt to distract Edward from the issue (with the usual tactic of referring to his lack of horizontal stature) had not fully diverted Ed from his question.

_'You're an emotional vacuum, you bastard. The only stuff you're extruding now, is bullshit.'_

Roy almost smiled as he quietly imagined Edward's actual thought behind that jibe; the boy could be so transparent at times.

A creaking sound caused him to open his eyes and turn towards the Fullmetal Alchemist, who was languorously settling back onto the hospital sheets, still watching Roy.

"So, exactly how many teeth have you lost? Want me to count your gray hairs? If your incontinence is that bad I can get you a bed pan. I'll even wipe your ass for you," Ed continued, still trying to tweak the General's pride enough to extract a decent answer from him.

_You're too young, you would never understand,_ Roy thought, _you haven't experienced the true emptiness of human life. Your life is so full of meaning and promise, you can't see that despair._

In answer, Roy simply raised an eyebrow at Edward.

Ed sighed. Mustang, as usual, was being cold as a rock, refusing to let his vulnerabilities emerge into the light of day.

It wouldn't hurt for the guy to act like he was actually _human._

Not that Ed really cared, anyway. Mustang hadn't ever been his friend, it was no surprise that he still didn't really treat him like one. It wasn't that Ed hated Roy or was totally indifferent to him, but just that despite everything, the General had never been his friend the way Winry was or even Hughes had been. The relationship was just…different.

Ed decided to drop it, and move on.

"What was that murder thing you and Farrell were discussing, anyway? I haven't heard of any anti-alchemy movements lately, had no idea anything like that was happening in Central," he asked, now growing serious.

Roy was silent for a moment. Then, in a heavy, weary-sounding voice, he replied, "Murders, Fullmetal. Someone or some organization's been dissecting State Alchemists for fun. Appears rather random, that each alchemist was caught perfectly off-guard, since there were no reports of any scuffles. As you know, battles aren't exactly quiet. The more drawn-out the fight, the more chance that they would be noticed. But there were no reports of any lights caused by transmutation reactions, no complaints about street fights.

"None of the bodies were found in the same location, and it seems that the alchemists were taken from very different locales as well. They weren't known to have frequented the same places, you see. Neither were they killed where they were attacked or where they were found."

"So," Ed said, "there must be some slaughterhouse somewhere where these people carry out the murders."

" That's what has been figured so far. Right now, the military is pretty much lost in terms of dealing with these murders, since there is very little evidence to draw on. We have absolutely no reliable leads, and nothing but speculation."

The Elric leaned forward to rest his chin in his palm. "Until tonight."

Mustang nodded.

At that, the Fullmetal Alchemist sat in silence, a gentle frown creasing his forehead.

"How many?" he finally said softly.

"Four."

The youth sucked in breath sharply. Recognizing the look in Ed's eye, Roy quickly said, "Do not meddle in this case, Fullmetal, we have our own assignment to worry about. General Harvey does not appreciate outside help either."

"I wasn't about to offer. But then…"

Ed looked up thoughtfully.

"Those men…they seemed strange. Their cloaks…" Ed's voice trailed off.

With a nonchalant shrug, Ed launched himself off the hard mattress, boots landing heavily on the white tiles, and stretched, the tension easing itself out of his body.

"Well, I'll be off now, sir, so you can snooze in peace. See ya in the morning," Ed called, strolling leisurely out the door.

_A steaming bath and a warm bed…that would be perfect right now. Add hot chocolate, and you get heaven,_ Ed thought dreamily.

Roy watched as the ward door closed behind the youth, and only then did he collapse back into the sheets, scrubbing his face with his hand, preparing to face the night alone once more.

There was definitely something wrong with the General. Sure, he tried to behave as he normally had before when interacting with Ed, but back then…

Edward sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. There was something there that he couldn't quite put a finger on. The General had just looked so tired, and Ed now realized that their repartee that morning had been a farce, in part. Mustang's spirit had not really been in it.

And Ed had thought that everything was the same between them after two years.

The torque between him and the General _had_ shifted, imperceptibly. The two of them were simply trying to dance along to their old tune, play the old game. It disturbed Ed that he had not sensed it before. The rules were due for a change; it was just that both of them were waiting to see who would venture to initiate the upgrade.

_Of course. It changed the minute I became an adult._

Edward sighed inwardly, kicking up brilliant swirls of orange and brown autumn leaves.

_I hope Gracia's still up. Wouldn't want to bother her if she's already asleep._

He strode briskly down the street, battered suitcase slung casually over his shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the Hughes' house streamed light from its downstairs windows. Flicking his braid back, Ed raised his white-gloved hand and tapped on the ever-so familiar door.

After a moment, the door was answered by a slender woman in her late twenties, short brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Dusty blue-green eyes regarded him for a moment, and then Gracia broke into a warm, welcoming smile.

"Edward! You're back! Oh, it's so nice to see you!"

With that, Gracia swept him into a warm embrace, much to Ed's embarrassment. Even worse, however, Ed found himself hugging her back.

"Good to see you too, Ms. Gracia," he muttered back a little awkwardly.

Gracia finally stepped back to examine him.

"My, you've grown! Looking so handsome now. Come in, dear, you must be exhausted," she said, drawing him into the house. As she so often had before, she ushered him into the living room, and in a minute he was comfortably seated on the settee, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of freshly made hot chocolate and a slice of apple pie balanced precariously on his knee.

"Your apple pie," he said around a mouthful of it, "is absolutely the best. Everyone in the office in Solsa recommended this bakery's apple pie to me, but when I finally got to try it, I told them I knew someone who could trash them in that arena."

_A mother's loving touch, that's what bakeries don't have._

Gracia simply laughed.

"Why, thank you. Would you like to learn?"

"I'm hopeless in the kitchen, Ms. Gracia!" Ed guffawed, "The last time I tried baking a cake for Al, Winry came after me with a wrench for making the kitchen look like a disaster area!"

_Disaster area…_

He abruptly stopped laughing, and looked down at his plate.

Instead of smooth white china, Ed's mind registered an image from long ago, that of General Mustang seated in the midst of the debris of the parade grounds, hands resting on a spade shoved into the ground before him.

Ed now knew what Mustang had been speaking of at that time, and of what had been haunting him.

That image now gave way to one of Roy, seated in the hospital bed, eyes closed as he told Ed to go to bed. Mustang's face had been exactly the same then as just now, under the setting sun that cast its rays over Central's broken parade grounds.

Gracia looked at him. "Ed? What's wrong?"

For moment, Ed didn't speak.

"Nothing," he finally replied, and picked up his mug again, and brushed the thought away.


	3. This Red Rock

Author's note: Sorry for the long long delay people, but work's been real busy lately, and I've been doing nothing but marking these last few weeks . Anyway, in response to a reviewer's complaint, I'll just say that when it comes to lemon, good things come to those who wait. First part of this chapter's a _little_ boring, but endure through for a bit of a nice reward :D It's not much, but i hope the development's coming along nicely. Now i shall stop babbling and get to the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter three: 

Captain Riza Hawkeye sat at the long table, all her materials impeccably organized before her, watching as the others trickled slowly into the office, chatting as they took their places at the table.

As always, Hawkeye was focused, her no-nonsense attitude making her seem rather unapproachable, except to those who knew her well. Arms folded neatly on the polished wood, back held straight in a relaxed but dignified line, she was the picture of military perfection. Yet, in reality, Riza was feeling markedly less than in peak condition, no matter how she looked. The news of the attack suffered by Roy yesterday had, as usual, made her worry.

_The reckless fool of a man._

It upset her that she was so awfully helpless to stop him from getting himself into all this trouble, that he was too stubborn to listen to her or anyone else. It pained her, too, to see him valiantly trying to carry on despite…despite _everything_.

She regarded him carefully. Mustang was an expert at hiding his inner thoughts and emotions, but she had learned to detect the subtle nuances of his demeanor which dropped various hints about what was really going on behind that mask.

Of course, Hawkeye had seen the true face behind that mask before. Not just when they were lovers, either; before that, she had been the only other person besides Hughes that Roy had ever shown his vulnerabilities to. She had also seen him smile, open and unguarded, genuine and affectionate, without a hint of his usual contempt or cynicism.

Today, his face was closed, carefully maintained in a façade of his usual good humour and businesslike briskness. However, Riza could tell that it was truly nothing more than a façade.

"Shall we begin?" Roy said when everyone had settled down, steepling his fingers in front of his face and surveying all around him.

"Anytime, Sir," Edward called from his seat, where he sat practically sprawled in his chair, a total antithesis to Hawkeye. Ed could make any formal event seem as leisurely and relaxed as an evening at home. He was a little like Breda in that sense.

Roy cocked an eyebrow in Ed's direction, but only gestured to Hawkeye to distribute the crisp manila envelopes containing everybody's orders.

Riza scanned the names printed on each envelope and handed them out accordingly. _Farman, Breda, Fury, Elric, Havoc._

Roy cleared his throat authoritatively.

"Our assignment, gentlemen, is a particularly important one this time round. We are to travel to Aerugo to supervise negotiations and the formation of a governing body in Aerugo and to prevent civil war from erupting. Before I go into the details of each person's specific job, Captain Hawkeye will be briefing you on the exact nature of these talks and on the developments that have so far led to this particular threat."

All eyes turned to Riza. Barely glancing down at her notes, Hawkeye began to speak.

"Aerugo is not a secular state like Amestris. The main religion there is Gnosticism, which was throughout the country's history supported by the royal family. However, in recent years, an alternative religion has evolved within the country. It began as an underground movement and has gained so many believers in a relatively short period of time. Now, it is a very powerful faction in the country.

"Because of that, the previous Tsars of Aerugo were afraid to try and oppose this new religion, thus allowing it to grow in power. Soon, there were nobles who converted to this new religion as well as other high-ranking officials, so that it was impossible for the Tsar to oppose it without stirring up unrest.

"Herein lies the problem: apparently, this new religion is the black to the white of the traditional Gnosticism. Gnosticism is a religion that seeks gnosis or knowledge, as it believes that knowledge is the key to achieving a state of purity and perfection. The new religion, however, believes that knowledge is evil, and it is practiced by those who call themselves the Hylics. In the Gnostic teachings, the Hylics are those bound to matter and reject gnosis, thus being viewed as the principle of evil. It is not surprising that Gnostics are very opposed to the Hylic ideas.

"In Aerugo, Gnosticism is very fundamentalist, and unsurprisingly, the Hylics were met with much controversy. The Gnostics see the Hylics as having distorted their religion, turning many of their people away from the path to salvation. The leader of the Hylics is a young woman who calls herself Sophia and claims to be one of the deities in Gnosticism made flesh. This is an even worse blasphemy in the eyes of the traditional Gnostics, as Sophia was said to be the one who introduced spirituality into the human world, making it possible for Man to seek gnosis. The Sophia of the Hylics, however, claims that gnosis is actually a tool to keep humanity from ever redeeming itself, and that true spirituality can only be achieved in obliterating knowledge.

"The Tsar did not dare to openly condemn either, and was merely mediating between the two religious factions to prevent civil war, until he and his family were mysteriously assassinated, so that no successors remain, whether Gnostic or Hylic.

"As a result, the two religious factions began accusing the other of trying to snatch power by murdering the royal family. The influence of these religions is so great, that there is a general consensus amongst the people that the country be ruled by either of the religious leaders.

"The ruling of the country currently hangs in the balance, and a slight provocation on either side could lead to civil war. A temporary ruling cabinet has been set up, but it has little support, and thus has requested aid from Amestris in settling the country's governance. Our job now is to ensure that a leading body is selected justly and peacefully."

That was merely the tip of the iceberg, but Riza didn't want to overload any of the men, or give any of them an excuse to nap. It was sufficient information for them to operate on anyway.

As it was, the Fullmetal was already etching delicate lines onto his papers, ornate arrays in narrow pen marks, while Havoc seemed to be concentrating on trying to push his lower jaw forward enough so that his unlit cigarette would tap his nose. Roy, who had heard it all before, appeared to be caught up in his own thoughts. Hawkeye kicked him smartly under the table.

Startled out of his reverie, Mustang took only a second to regain his composure, and even managed to muffle slightly his yelp of pain and surprise.

Rising, he unrolled a large map, smoothing it out onto the long table before his men.

"We will be in the capital city of Aerugo, Circe," he said, tapping his finger on the red-marked area in the central area of the land depicted in the map. "Havoc, Breda and Fury, each of you has a detailed map of the city with your designated areas highlighted in red. These areas are those with the largest concentrations of practitioners of either religion, and are thus the ones most likely to be targeted should anything happen. Part of your duties are to monitor these areas with your given patrols to ensure order. You are all to report back to First Lieutenant Farman.

"The negotiations are being initiated so as to form a treaty between the two factions, the top priority being to ensure that peace and order will be upheld. The second is to encourage both sides to agree on forming a parliament instead of having one religious sect dominate the country, which would surely lead to civil strife. Here, I am to act as Presiding Secretary to ensure smooth proceedings, and Captain Hawkeye and Fullmetal are to assist me in this, with Hawkeye on the Gnostic and Elric on the Hylic side. The rest of you will be in charge of security at this event.

"Are there any questions?"

It was a mild surprise to all when Edward spoke up.

"Yes, sir," he said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, his face now perfectly serious. "Is it alright for Amestris to be meddling in Aerugo's business? I mean, people can be real touchy when it comes to religion and politics. It's none of our business. We may benefit from peace in Aerugo, but if anything goes wrong, we could be dragged into war."

_The world is full of surprises, _thought Hawkeye. _I thought I'd never see the day when the Fullmetal would actually think before rushing into anything._

She was almost touched with amusement, when the spark in his eyes stopped her.

_Lior. He's remembering Lior._

There it was, the pain and anguish of guilt, mirrored in his eyes, the blame that he had taken upon himself for causing the civil war that tore Lior apart, and created the opportunity for the creation of the Philosopher's Stone. The twinge in her chest was almost a physical sensation.

Roy, on the other hand, appeared unmoved.

"Fullmetal, do not question the decision of the Parliament. It is not within my power to repeal or to contest what they have decided," he said coldly, only the slight twitch of his brow betraying his irritation as he sat back down and carefully folded his hands on the table.

The Fullmetal Alchemists' eyes were a dark, burnished bronze reflecting molten fire as he raised them to Roy's face.

"Is that so? Well then, it seems that despite the change in the leadership here, there has been no true change in the rule."

Roy leaned back in his chair, stony-faced as a Gothic gargoyle blowing frost over the conference table. "I understand your concern, Fullmetal, but we have to be led, one way or another. Would you prefer the Parliament, or a tyrant?"

"Why should we have to listen to a bunch of doddery old fools who only know how to quibble over their afternoon coffee! Aren't they aware of what could happen!" Riza watched, shocked, as Edward leapt to his feet, almost knocking his chair over as he shouted. His coffee mug tipped over, spreading an ominous dark stain over the smooth wood. Fury had finally jerked awake, and Havoc's cigarette lay on the table below his open mouth.

"Edward Elric!" Hawkeye snapped, reproach honing her gaze into a fierce, keen blade. Few could survive her glare even when tuned to a much lower frequency, but Ed simply ignored her.

"You are overreacting. We have veered way off course here, Fullmetal. It is not on our agenda to conduct a political debate. I suggest we return to the matter at hand," Roy returned calmly.

Edward's hands were clenched on the table, and at Roy's response they began to shake.

"I thought someone had resolved not to follow unreasonable orders, isn't that right, _Colonel_?" The youth spat out each word like bile, ringing with undisguised sarcasm and contempt. "Even if it doesn't involve you personally killing anybody without cause, you do realize that many more could possibly die because of your actions, don't you? Or do you simply take what you see before your eyes, and think that you can simply shift the blame because you didn't make the decision? What-"

"Shut up," Roy whispered, his eyes closed against the words. "Just shut up."

At that, Ed fell silent again, lowering his gaze uncertainly, though it still brimmed with anger; he had found the General's old wound, and had run a sword through its lingering scar. The only sound now was the crackle of tree branches in the autumn breeze.

Riza quickly cut into the heavy silence, since Roy was not deigning to move.

"Calm yourself, Fullmetal. Your behavior was totally insubordinate, and is not be repeated." Her voice was razor-edged, but within the acrid atmosphere it came through tinny and weak.

Edward clenched his teeth, and looked away, gold hair curtaining gold eyes. Roy did not react, and the only sign that he was still alive was the slow, labored rise and fall of his chest. Nervously, Havoc cleared his throat, but the awkwardness had the room oppressed into utter silence.

"We depart from Central at twenty hundred hours sharp this evening by train," Roy abruptly continued, as if nothing had happened, "which will bring us to the border between Amestris and Aerugo. From there, we shall be making the journey by coach, to arrive in Circe in about sixty-two hours after departure from Central."

Edward remained standing for a second longer, then slowly lowered himself back onto his chair. Riza watched him not without some measure of compassion, and barely stopped a flinch as he softly murmured "Rose," under his breath, a name that she knew to be his prayer to the dark gods of fate.

-

_God damn it. God damn it all._

Edward strode grimly down the paved road, fists shoved deep into his pockets, as if they were the hot coals of his anger that could be smothered by the black leather of his pants.

_Can't Mustang see? Or does he just not care anymore? Bastard. Bastard and idiot. Isn't it _his_ concern, to see that there are no more meaningless wars? Ishvar, and then Lior. Not to mention the countless ones before that. Has he worked hard, given his blood and sweat and youth, just to let all of it slip away, go to waste? He can't have!_

Fury crushed his face into sullen mask, and other people scuttled to the other side of the road when they saw him coming. Ed knew he must have looked ready to kill somebody. Maybe having a pair of ignition gloves like the General would be a good idea; a simple snap, and he could send something rolling down the street, all aflame.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon; Mustang's contingent had been released early to pack in preparation for the journey ahead, but Ed had few possessions to tie him down. Besides, how could he even concentrate on packing in the face of something like this?

"Mustang, you fat-faced fucker, what the hell is _wrong_ with you!" Ed muttered, gnashing his teeth and ripping apart the fan-shaped leaves of a restaurant's decorative potted palm.

"Hey you! Quit screwing with my plant!"

"Uh oh," Edward murmured, looking up from the shredded green remains in his white gloves to the enraged restaurant owner, and back again. Caught red-handed, undergone trial, found guilty. Awaiting penalty. Damn.

"That's a rare Drachman palm, you little brat! You've just killed it, thanks to your itchy fingers!"

_Little brat?_

Ed's temper flared up again.

"Who did you just call a childish little bean boy who's in danger of getting trod on because he's too damn short to be seen properly!" he yelled, or rather, would have yelled had he not been interrupted halfway by the peculiar projectile that was traveling towards him at an unbelievable speed.

Punishment was not pending any longer.

With a shriek, the Fullmetal Alchemist dodged the plate that came flying straight at his face, and raced around the corner, closely followed by various items of flatware. Boots clumping heavily on the ground, he followed the twists and turn of the alley, until he stepped into something slick and skidded, almost falling. He caught himself by slapping his hands against the brick wall to support himself, and almost slipped again. Frowning, he glanced about, expecting to see a leaking pipe or anything that might explain the slippery floor.

The cause of the ground's slickness was immediately apparent, and Ed stood frozen in utter shock and horror.

Then he was stumbling around the corner, the late breakfast that lay in his stomach clamoring to be let out, and falling to his knees on the dusty ground, scrunching up his hands and pressing them to his eyes as he shuddered violently.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

He allowed the shivering to subside gradually, arms clutched around his sides in a vise-like grip that would leave red marks on his pale skin. The pain did not even register until his body had stilled. Somebody in the alleyway was gasping like a fish out of water, but no one else was around, so it could only have been himself. Yet Ed was not aware that he was doing anything, not for that eternity of several minutes.

_I did not just see that. I did not just see that. I _can't_ have!_

Trembling, he hesitantly crept around the corner again, to re-confirm that imagination had not manifested itself strongly enough to leave that vivid image etched deeply into his brain, to check that he had not gone fully mad and started hallucinating.

It was still there.

_It_ was a dead body, but unlike any dead body he had ever seen before.

The man lay sprawled spread-eagled on the floor, arms and legs extended in a sickening parody of a five-point star, a deep incision running from the very tip of his chin down his bare chest, ending at his naked crotch, a ghastly wound that gleamed like the wet lips of an open mouth. The flaps of skin had been peeled back and laid flat against the man's sides, black crosses of thread marking out where they had been stitched down to hold the lips of the wound open. White teeth rose out of the red hollows of the mouth-wound, the jagged, sawn-off edges of the body's ribs, opening up the man's chest to the world. And the organs had been placed neatly around the body, none fully separated from the carcass itself, the stomach still affixed to the esophagus running up into the throat, the rectum evidently still in place but the rest of the large intestine coiled against the concrete ground, the spongy lungs just barely drooping over the edge of the horrifying hole.

Rigor mortis had stiffened the body into an agonized position, the shoulders thrust back, the fingers curled upwards like claws, head tilted back and twisted grotesquely to one side, with blackened lips peeled back to reveal the gleam of teeth, knees slightly bent up above the ground but the heels planted straight down, as if the victim had been writhing in excruciating pain while he had been tied down firmly at the wrists and ankles.

The top of the man's head, scalp of blood-matted red hair over a shallow bowl of skull, lay beside the head, revealing the emptiness behind the eyeballs which had sunk in without gray matter to support them. And lying in the hollow cavity of the man's chest, resting against the raw red meat, was a silver State Alchemist watch, its pristine condition utterly at odds with the blood and gore that surrounded it.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh God someone help me I don't want to see this I don't-_

There was a metallic smell in the air, like the meat market in the late afternoon, when the sun had raised enough heat to cause the waiting meat to fester, and flies buzzed around merrily, landing on the corpse's lips and exposed flesh, gleefully laying their little white eggs. Edward's stomach started to heave once more, and this time he could not ignore it. He turned and retched. Somehow, his feet found themselves moving his body through the alley, out to the open world again.

_-just let me get out of here, get away from that…_

The end of the alley seemed so far away, and he wondered vaguely why it was swaying so precariously, why the ground seemed so low, why his footsteps had become so soft and echoing all of a sudden, why his breathing was the only clear sound to him in the perceivable universe. It seemed an eternity before he tumbled onto the street, smack into the Brigadier General Bastard himself.

Mustang looked down at him, irritation creasing his smooth brow.

"Fullmetal," he began, but Edward's hands suddenly shot out, clamping down painfully on the General's upper arms. He had to tell the General, he was _trying_ to tell the General, but something was wrong, his mouth was suddenly spouting words as though it had a life of its own without a brain to process them, and God, it was so bloody difficult to _think_.

"Oh fuck, he's dead- they're all over the fucking- his brains- shit oh shit- don't let me see- blood and- and- Christ, it's awful-" Ed babbled incoherently, voice ricocheting off the course he had tried to set it on.

"Fullmetal," the General took hold of the boy's shoulders and shook him, "try to make some sense! What's wr-"

Edward cut in, his voice rising to a hysterical crescendo.

"_His watch is in his fucking chest!_ His ribs are bloody hell gone and his watch is _in his fucking chest!_"

_Oh dear God,_ Roy thought. _It can't be…_

He knew he should go and take a look, he should inform headquarters, he should do his job, but Edward had dissolved into violent sobs, his eyes wild and unfocused as the symptoms of his shock and disgust began to slice away the smothering blanket of numbness, fighting their way to the surface. The Fullmetal's hands, one flesh, the other cold steel, were digging painfully into Roy's shoulders, gouging holes in his skin, the youth was slick with cold sweat, and his face was as pale as his gloves, tinged with a sickly green hue.

"Fullmetal," Roy spoke firmly, "Fullmetal, that hurts. Stop it. Calm yourself at once.

"Fullmetal…"

The youth was not responding to his second name. Instead, his eyes bounced crazily off Roy, to the sky, to the buildings around them, and back to Roy again, but they held no inkling that any of these images had truly registered, even as he swayed where he stood.

_"He is grown now, sir, but he still carries his past like a sore scar. Remember that."_ Riza had caught up with him after that morning's meeting to tell him that, which he already knew. Her putting it into words, however, now gave him something to hold on to, in a moment like this. _"He needs the assurance that he is a person."_

"Full- Edward. Edward," Roy found his voice softening as he switched to the boy's first name in the hope that it was something that he could find comfort in, something he could identify out of the chaos that was now his mind.

"I…I…I…goddamnit," Ed whispered, his eyes now focusing on Roy, although they were still not back to their normal sharpness, the pupils dilating and contracting like the beat of an excited heart. Roy nearly jerked back when he saw the pain, horror and confusion in the Fullmetal's eyes, though he could not quite say why. Except that he recognized it.

Gently, and to his own astonishment, he leaned over and hugged the Elric to his chest. It was not something he had planned to do, nor anything he could have ever imagined himself doing. But for a moment, he had given in to the compassion that flowed through his veins, and this was how it had chosen to move his body. Had the Fullmetal been fully lucid, Roy could have expected to be met with a stiff, unyielding body, and possibly a swift kick to the knees. But in this state, the brash young man flowed easily into his grasp, and the tension that stretched his muscles taut slowly dissipated, despite the periodic sobs that jerked at his spine.

Then, Edward hugged him back, fiercely and desperately. Roy was thunder-struck. Never before had the Fullmetal ever allowed himself to admit to anybody his vulnerabilities, had rarely ever allowed himself to be caught in any such moment of weakness, when the agony of his burdens were fully shown in his need for comfort and support.

_But back then, he had to be strong, because of his brother. Pity would have broken him. He needed to walk that lonely, painful path._

Quietly, Roy ran his fingers tenderly through the Fullmetal's long blond hair, enjoying the poignancy of that single, rare moment of transient beauty, before it evaporated with the evening's dew.

-

Edward couldn't remember exactly when he became fully aware of the circle of warmth that enfolded him; it came gradually, in little drips and nudges, slowly rousing him to the shocking and utterly embarrassing fact that he, the Fullmetal Alchemist, was being held and comforted like a child, and by the bloody Brigadier General Mustang, no less. Initially, he had stirred gently, enjoying the warmth and comfort of an embrace, then promptly landed back on earth and leapt out of Mustang's arms as though it were a pit of writhing vipers.

What conversation that had passed between the two men since then was strictly businesslike, and in stilted tones on Ed's side. Infuriatingly, the General had been utterly nonchalant about the whole thing, even pretending that it had never happened. Ed didn't pause to consider the source of his irritation; if he did, he knew he would find that it came about partly because he was now indebted to the Flame Alchemist for keeping his vulnerability a secret and therefore for protecting his reputation before the others. It was this kindness that cut into Ed's pride.

_I am _not_ a child to be coddled any longer!_ Ed silently told Mustang through smoldering glares, despite knowing that the gesture had been something more akin to friendly sensitivity than childish patronizing. It seemed that no matter how many years had passed, Ed himself was unwilling to move beyond that erratic, student-teacher sort of relationship that he had had with the General for so long. For some reason, Mustang knew exactly how to push his buttons, even without trying.

"You did not tell me that they were murdered like that," Edward had spoken quietly and dangerously, a whisper of dagger blade in the air, as he glowered at Mustang. The military personnel, at least, were far out of earshot, swarming around the carcass of the dead Alchemist.

The General had cocked a dark brow at him. "Would it have lessened your disgust and horror?"

"No," he returned slowly, deliberately, "but at least I would have known to show those men last night absolutely no mercy."

The glitter in Ed's eyes was like the sparkle of sun on a deadly poniard, guaranteed to slide through flesh with ease. Yet, the imperturbable Mustang had turned dispassionately away from his gaze. "It would not have changed anything, Fullmetal. Now go home, and pack."

Just like that, once again, Ed had been dismissed. Brushed aside, The echoes of past days in the military under Roy came flying back to him. _Run along now, little Fullmetal. Let the big, strong adults handle this._ Fury flooded Ed's vision.

"What, are you going to brush me off like a little kid again? I'm bloody eighteen years' old, I'm not a baby! I may be short, but that don't count for nothing, you understand!" he had snarled at the back of Roy's head as the older man began walking away. Mustang did not answer. Ed had felt like screaming at the man, or punching him (both sounded good), but the hard set of Roy's shoulders told him clearly that he would get nothing from the General. A single display of grand defiance was already enough for that day, anyhow.

As he had stood where he was, a strange sense of defeat had risen up into his throat, and his trembling shoulders had drooped away from the sky of their own accord.

_Am I not an adult now?_

_Do you not see me as an adult now?_

Now, he and Mustang sat in the private train compartment that they shared, both being of the highest ranks compared to the rest, with only silence between them. Mustang's back was held ramrod straight by the carriage window, arms crossed, Ed sprawled on the seat across from him, hands tucked up under his head and legs crossed over the arm, pretending to nap, but anyone looking in on them would have seen the tension in both bodies.

Ed had been listening intently for any sound that would indicate a movement from Mustang, but thus far, the General had been absolutely still, although Mustang clearly wasn't sleeping. He was certain, too, that the General was waiting for a movement from Ed as well, the flicker of an eyelid, an adjustment of the body's horizontal orientation, an admittance that the sleep was just a charade, and so the Fullmetal refused to move at all, even when his neck started to ache, or when the cloth crumpled up under him began to make him itch slightly. It was almost as if they were playing a game; whoever moved first would lose.

The silence from Mustang was deep, and Ed recognized it as the same sort of heavy silence that Al had about him when he was thinking deeply. Something to do with the murders, he was certain. And the General was not saying anything about it to Ed.

_Fine, asshole. Who gives a damn about your opinions anyway? Not me at any rate. They ain't worth shit._

Ed pouted inwardly, and shut off his thoughts to resume his dark sulking.

_That Fullmetal's sulking again, _Roy noted, watching the nearly imperceptible changes in Ed's face. _And of course, he's ignoring me, and the rest of the world, again._

His lips curved softly up into an amused smile as nostalgic memories came to mind. He saw the Fullmetal, his grouchy face rounder and younger, going red as he looked away from Roy. The boy would just never change.

Then a dark cloud floated over his thoughts. _Did I honestly treat him like a child? But I know what he's like, and it was for the best that he did not know. It would have fired his sense of justice, distracted him from the assignment at hand._

_But still…… am I being unfair?_

Roy did not really want to know the answer.

Still, he picked at it restlessly as he stared at Ed's face, illuminated by the harsh electrical lights, turning it over and over until he was not sure which way was up. It was disturbing, the fact that he was, at the same time, somehow avoiding the answer while he was searching for it.

The train carriage rattled as it turned on a bend, sending a thick strand of gold drifting onto Ed's nose. As Mustang watched, Ed's nose began to twitch in response, slightly at first, and then increasingly violently, as Edward tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore it. Roy fought the overwhelming impulse to laugh as the Fullmetal's face began to scrunch up, only to be forced to relax, and then scrunch up again. Finally, the tension was released in a single, explosive sneeze that Roy could have sworn rocked the whole carriage almost off the rails.

After recovering from the sonic boom, Roy looked up to see Ed sitting bolt upright, rubbing a brilliantly scarlet nose and looking utterly disconcerted. He looked so comical, Roy couldn't help it; he began to chuckle, hand placed over his face as if it could somehow stop the laughter from leaking out, which it, unfortunately, could not. He was vaguely aware of the Fullmetal's furious, embarrassed glare blaring at him from across the compartment, but it barely registered through the haze of his mirth.

It was a while before Roy could maintain a straight face, and during that time, the brilliant flush had spread across the whole of Ed's face, making him look like a fiery, setting sun with a bad temper.

"My apologies, Fullmetal. I did not expect such, ah, _entertainment _on this long train ride," Roy said with his typical brand of wry amusement, smirking at the youth, "I must say that the power of your lungs is remarkable, especially for someone of your stature."

Ed growled unintelligibly, bronzy eyes slitting dangerously. However, the effect was somewhat spoilt by the red creeping slowly into his ears.

Roy turned away and made to examine his fingernails with a nonchalant air. "We need you to stay sharp now, Fullmetal. Please resist the urge to degenerate any further, it took humans quite a while to reach this stage of evolution. Although judging by your height…"

The Fullmetal angrily flicked his braid back, crossed his arms sulkily, and flopped back on the cushioning. Whatever he had expected, Roy had not expected Ed to resist his usual top-blowing and take this rather less spicy approach to handling provocations. Then again, Ed _had_ already shown that when he wanted to, he could control his temper. Now, anyway. It used to be so easy to elicit a most amusing display of temper from the notorious alchemist. Roy opened his mouth, then shut it again. What _would_ he say to the bo- the young man?

A gentle sigh slipped from between his lips, and he turned to stare out the window into the pitch darkness of the night, interrupted periodically by the curves of his face that were illuminated by the light. Silhouettes of the features of the landscape, shadows layered with even darker shadows, slid away to be replaced with new shapes.

Then Roy heard the whisper of cloth on leather, and saw, in the window pane, the splash of colour that was Edward sit up.

The Fullmetal's voice was low and quiet when he spoke.

"Sir. Today- why?- I mean- I don't…I don't know why you did what you did- but- for everything…" his voice trailed off. It was like there was something clogging up his throat; he could not force it out. Roy waited.

"Forget it," Ed finally said, sliding down so that his hips rested against the edge of the seat, legs splayed out in front of him.

Roy smiled quietly.

"Oh, you're welcome."


	4. Fear in a Handful of Dust

Author's note: Okay, am I driving anyone crazy yet? The chapters are getting harder and harder to churn out (and getting longer too ), and unfortunately, time has to be sacrificed for quality.

Orenji Yoh-chan: thanks! never expected to be praised so highly, but that really motivated me when i was struggling with certain parts in this chapter. accepts orenjis and glomps orenji yoh-chan domo arigato gozaimas!

Yellowdancer: haha actually i'm not really very sure if this fits into AU or not...i meant it as post-series, post-movie, whatever happens in it, but i realised that i actually got the time frame mixed up (if you didn't notice, then ignore that). and as for the riza-roy business, easy does it, but i promise it will come! sorry for taking bloody long, anyway

Aiaru: just as you requested, Ed's no longer the Fullmetal, but the Fullmetal Alchemist! i was taking shortcuts, the lazy bum that i am

Charlottes-pen/Betsy: yeah, T.S Eliot. i found the waste-land fascinating, and his way of evoking all those emotions is really something i aspire to... swoons

All right, enough! To the story... At least my contract ends soon, and hopefully I'll have more time then to write As always, thanks for reading and please drop me a review if you can! (tell me if it's getting too angsty for you; i really wonder if i'm overdoing it)

Edit: Sorry, I realised that I had gotten the terms Valkyrie and Einherjar mixed up! Gomen!

* * *

Chapter 4 

The world around Roy shuddered and dipped, the ground shifting and sliding beneath his feet like sand sucked from the shore. He swayed giddily, falling towards a pair of feet in combat boots that stood before him.

Roy looked up, and saw Maes Hughes, hands shoved deep into his pants pockets.

"Get a wife, Roy! Marry, settle down, have kids…it's great!"

Roy shuddered involuntarily at those painfully familiar words, and Hughes bent over backwards and fell away as a puddle of shimmering opalescent liquid that splashed into the velvety darkness.

"Maes," he whispered, reaching out, but his instinct was already forcing his body to turn around in response to the presence he now felt behind him. His eyes swirled through the deep darkness, and latched themselves onto the distinct figure of Riza Hawkeye, her smooth skin and pale hair glowing as though she were a delicate paper lantern. An unfelt gust of wind lifted her hair in gleaming filaments about her face, and the hurt in her coppery eyes arrowed his heart through the misty darkness.

She simply said, "I love you," and promptly dispersed in a sweep of luminous maple leaves that traced circles in the air before dissolving.

"No," he whispered again, "Don't leave me. I'm alone."

His hands reached up, as if he would weep into them, but he stopped them a distance from his face, for they were dressed in his ignition gloves, so drenched with blood that the arrays on them melded seamlessly with the red. The dead of Ishvar, they were all there, permeating the very instruments that had taken their lives. He could hear them, shrieking in pain, tearing into him like sandpaper against raw flesh, sloughing away the shaky defenses he had erected over the years against their accusations, their raw brutality driving him mad with condemnation.

Again, he echoed denial, attempting to drown out the screaming wind with his own reality, but he knew that ever since the Ishvar massacre, these had _become_ part of his psyche, lodged themselves deep into his brain, to fester and spread. He cried out again, and suddenly there was a gun in his hand, the grip rough and familiar in his hand, and he knew exactly what to do with it; he was releasing the safety and holding the barrel up against his chin, pushing the gunmetal into his flesh, to dig into his head and hopefully create a hole large enough to leach away everything inside, seeking, crying, _praying_ for the oblivion offered in those several inches of eternal black steel, infinity a cold sensation that tingled his skin.

Resolve shot through him, and he pulled the trigger, but something was wrong, it was not he who had been shot, for he felt no hot pain ripping into his skull, and the gun was somehow no longer pointing up into his chin, but was held out in front of him and -_dear God oh Christ our Savior_- he had shot the married doctors _again_, but it didn't matter now because even though he had only done it once he had done it for all eternity and they could never come back to life to die again, the moment only an instant, temporary, yet timeless for it touched forever.

He turned away, turned away from the tangle of blood and hair and limbs, even as it merged with the atmosphere, only to be met with an image of the Fullmetal Alchemist. No, not the Fullmetal Alchemist, but just Edward Elric, as he was when Roy had first seen him, a boy with short gold hair fanning out on a clean white pillowcase, one bandaged shoulder missing its arm, his young, sleeping face already wearing that determined frown, as though he were looking into the future, witnessing the horrors and heartaches that had lain before him then. Roy blinked, and suddenly Ed was the corpse of the murdered alchemist, dead red flesh and dull organs in a now-empty shell, a gruesome rictus of pain that blurred his vision.

Then _he_ was the victim, dead but still trapped within that mortal body, cringing inwardly as he felt maggots sprout and burrow into his flesh, feeling the wind whistle within the hollow cavity of his chest, feeling every part of him gradually rotting away like refuse. He could see nothing but darkness above him, and felt as if he were staring into blindness, the utter emptiness of a black hole stretched out far above him, a vacuum that sucked up and silenced his eternal scream.

Roy jolted awake, the visions in his head leaving behind the irrational fear that the dream was real, that he would still be immobile, gazing up into nothing, breathing nothing, feeding death. However, his eyes opened to the fabric ceiling of the elegant coach, the fleur de lis embroidered on it vaguely perceivable in the growing dawn. The coach rattled, jostling Roy so that the ceiling jumped before his eyes, breaking the trance he had slid into so deeply.

_Thank God._

With a gentle sigh, he leaned back against the rich plum upholstery, waiting for the profusion of images that flooded him to dissipate. Cautiously, he glanced around.

Riza, Breda, Fury and Edward were all still asleep (Havoc and Farman were traveling with the men), filling the coach with a stillness that mere silence could never achieve, especially since Breda wasn't snoring for once, despite the hum of the engine. Edward's quiet repose reminded Roy too keenly of the dream, and he had to work to swallow a lump I his throat.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Roy withdrew his new silver State Alchemist watch and took a peek at the time. It was still around eight o'clock, about two hours prior to the time that they were scheduled to arrive in Circe. Roy was glad that Aerugo was only a small republic; the mode of transportation had been chosen for its privacy and in-conspicuity, so as to ensure as much safety as possible. However, traveling for more than ten hours in such a small, cramped space, and with only periodic rest stops along the way, would certainly send at least one person tottering over the edge of sanity. Especially if Edward Elric was one of the passengers.

Smiling slightly, Roy leaned over to part the drapes, opening the coach up to the world outside to take his first glance at Aerugo's human life. Despite the fact that they were only passing through a small town, Roy could already see precious hints of the Aerugans' prized architecture in even the simplest of buildings, with elegant iron-wrought balconies that curved into graceful vines, kicking off into fluid flowers and leaves, and intricate designs worked into woods and stone in the finest details ever. Aerugo, Roy knew, was a republic that, despite its size, was a highly advanced country in terms of both knowledge and culture, famed for exceptional artistry as well as for epitomizing scientific advancement. It was within their very religion and philosophy of life to pursue both the arts and the sciences, and to maintain peace through a stand of neutrality. A Utopia, a haven, a Paradise, but one now on the verge of chaos.

Several of the townsfolk were already up, curiously squinting through the glass of the coach windows as it passed, but giving the simply-dressed occupants no further attention. They moved about their daily chores with a comforting, roiling familiarity, but the Flame Alchemist sensed rather than saw faint, spidery threads of underlying tension, when a woman greeted her neighbor, when a man brushed against another. Of course. With its proximity to the capital, such spillover effects were inevitable.

_This is what peace is to protect, _Roy told himself, _I must protect this kind of lifestyle._

Fond memories of his childhood, within Central's quiet little suburbs, tugged the corners of his mouth into a faint smile, and Roy relaxed, his spine slackening against the backrest.

At the inflow of morning light, Riza shifted, and slowly slid open her eyes, something that Roy had always found fascinating to watch. She never stirred, but came awake slowly, peeling back her eyelids to reveal a sort of glazed gaze, which brightened and sharpened after a few blinks. In this moment of weakness, he made the unforgivable mistake of voyeurism, instead of feigning sleep as he ought to have done. Now, the two of them alone in their consciousness, she could catch him off-guard.

She was the one to smile first.

"Good morning sir," she said respectfully, dipping her head in the faintest of gestures.

He returned her greeting with a clipped nod, and a curt "Morning."

They smiled at each other, vaguely, blandly, and looked away, each to close to memories for comfort. At work, they blocked up, barricading themselves against such awkward encounters with the smooth marble of business, but here, they had been caught with the walls down, vulnerable and cold, susceptible to the wind.

Knowing the rest of the men who accompanied them, Roy was certain that they would not wake for some time; he could not rely on them to fill in the gaps with swift, aimless chatter, not now at any rate.

He had not expected that Riza and his relationship would ever end up this way, no matter what happened, their familiarity and utter knowledge of each other luring him into complacency and assurance. And yet…

_Damn. Give me Farman, anytime. Constant nagging is always better than _this

He was wrong about _all_ his men sleeping on, though.

The Fullmetal Alchemist gave a lazy yawn, and stretched, catlike, beside Roy, his lithe body unfurling with enviable ease and even a certain measure of grace. His eyes slit open, betraying a dull, bleary gleam of gold, and Edward relaxed again, slumping haphazardly in his seat. His mouth worked sluggishly, but for once, no sound issued from it, other than a faint smacking as he repeatedly unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Evidently, the Fullmetal Alchemist was _not_ one to call on in the morning. Roy vaguely wondered how one who was so frustratingly hyper during the day, could be so hopelessly befuddled and incoherent in the morning.

Riza greeted Edward with her customary "Good morning" and a soft smile, before turning away again, but Roy, grateful for another conscious soul, lapsed into teasing.

"Rising and shining, Fullmetal? You could put the sun out of a job, if you don't take care," he intoned with a smirk.

In the face of the General's typical sarcasm, Ed could only manage an incoherent grunt that Roy though he recognized from alcohol-drenched creatures with their heads laid on bar-tops or lying in road-side ditches late at night. Definitely _not_ a morning person.

Chuckling, Roy murmured, "I'd like to see you try transmuting something, right now. Looks like we'll actually get some peace this morning." With that, he returned to gazing out the window, not noticing the watchful flash of gold that peeked through the lashes at the corner of the Fullmetal Alchemist's eye. His so-called reconciliation with Edward had set him more at ease with the youth, even if Roy had spent half the trip niggling him, and consequently the other half preventing himself from having his brains bashed out the back of his head. Ed was like a piece of elastic, made to be stretched to its limit repeatedly. Roy took some form of rather perverse pleasure in pushing Edward as far as he dared, whether in terms of assigning him orders or in his friendly teasing.

_Strange, _Roy mused. _Before, I never imagined that our interaction would ever go beyond me assigning him missions in my personal office. Funny, that I could think so far into the future regarding every aspect of him except this._

Such shortsightedness was a little worrying, for the Flame Alchemist had won part of his fame simply by being so annoyingly accurate in his analyses and conclusions, with regards to both people and to situations, not to mention currently being the youngest to have attained the rank of Brigadier General. The military counted on him to be sharp; he would be nothing without the military, now. He did not pause to consider how sad and pathetic that sounded. It was daytime now, and it was work; he was the Brigadier General and the Flame Alchemist.

Roy Mustang would have to wait till the night to emerge.

-

"-so yeah, I got pretty damn peeved at that. I mean, come on, first he pukes all over my shoes, too damn drunk to even stand properly, and then he starts trying to knock me senseless, accusing me of bein' an alien who wants to destroy the earth by sending shockwaves into its core! And I got two fucking weeks of confinement!" Breda complained loudly, crossing his arms as he sank into his seat.

Riza's reply was sharp and immediate. "Since you actually put his head through the back of a chair, I doubt that many would really consider that punishment overly harsh. Besides, I'm willing to bet that you weren't fully sober either at the time."

Breda reddened visibly, and tossed back defensively, "I was young and carefree back then-"

"-but no less substantial, if I recall correctly," Fury interjected mischievously, his eyes reduced to the merest, knavish little slits that flashed cheekily in the heavy-set man's direction.

Before Breda exploded, Ed just _had_ to throw in his two cents' worth, delivered in the sweetest, most dulcet tones. "You know, it's hard to actually blame the guy. I mean, jeez, shockwaves? That's probably cos you make the ground wobble every time you take a step," Ed grinned, crossing his eyes comically.

"You piece o' shit alchemist! I'm gonna sit on ya! Squish yer brains out your ears and nose."

"Violent, degenerate primate!"

"Barbaric, oversized chicken!"

Breda took a deep breath. "Beeeeeaaaan boy!"

"NOW WHO DID YOU JUST SAY WAS SMALL ENOUGH TO LIVE IN A GRAIN OF SAND!"

"Ed! Ed! Cut that out! The coach is gonna tip over!" Fury cried desperately, clinging to the miniature alchemist amidst Ed's flailing limbs.

"Victory." Breda smirked, triumphantly sticking his tongue out at the enraged youth.

"That's cos you played dirty, asshole!"

"All's fair in love and war, m' dear."

"Ah get outta here," yawned Edward languidly.

"Oh Ed, I'm _so_ sorry! Let's kiss and make up."

"Argh, get _off_ me, you freak."

"Cut it out you two, _please_. You're making me a little ill," groaned Fury, turning away from the spectacle before him. Breda shrugged in mock innocence.

"Aww, we weren't even doing anything. Pruuude."

"It's just disturbing! Ed's right, you're a freak!"

"Really? Then let me change your mind," purred Breda, reaching for the smaller man with ridiculously puckered lips.

Ed chuckled as it came to his turn to sit back and enjoy the verbal jousting match between Breda and Fury, the two trading playful little jabs back and forth. Or at least he did, until he remembered the General who sat in silence, neither participating nor watching, merely staring out beyond the glass pane of the window. It was odd, Ed thought, for he had always been under the impression that Hawkeye and Mustang were rather close, but that morning as he had stirred, the Fullmetal Alchemist had noted the awkward silence lying between the two. It could not have been that the General had not been in a talking mood, since he had made a few feeble attempts at striking up another round of friendly banter with Ed, except that the latter had been too utterly incoherent to manage any measure of repartee. Besides, there had been something in the air…

Edward made up his mind and scooted quickly over to Mustang, parking his rear right next to Roy's. The General glanced over, but it was distracted and distant, and the only indication that he really saw Ed was a slight elevation of his right eyebrow before he turned back to considering the scenery. The Fullmetal Alchemist snorted inwardly; it seemed that Mustang needed to be provoked into responding.

He sat there for a moment, considering. Usually, with his brother, Ed would have blown gently, insistently on the back of his neck, a habit that had developed after he discovered that the relatively recently regained body of Al's was very sensitive to even the slightest rush of air against the skin. It was, Ed had realized, because Al's body was newly formed, like a young baby's, and not the one that had been lost in the Gate. Whenever Ed did that, Al would respond by squirming and giggling madly, often accompanying this with a little high-pitched yelp, something that made Ed love his brother all over again. It affirmed that Al was 100 himself again, not half dissolved between existence and extinction. However, that was Al, and this was the Brigadier General Bastard; it was definitely too familiar, too intimate a gesture for Mustang. For heaven's sake, this was _Roy Mustang_. Inappropriate hardly began to describe how such an action would be considered.

Edward instead opted for using his mere presence as a source of annoyance to elicit a reaction from the Flame Alchemist, and concentrated on staring intently at the back of Mustang's neck, right where the delicately tapered tips of dark hair ended, the rich strands lightly teasing the stiff collar of Roy's white civilian shirt. Behind this extenuating curtain, there stood the slim pillar of pale, cool flesh that disappeared into the crisp cotton.

_Jeez. Figures that even the back of his _neck_ would be coolly impeccable yet casual all at once. Just like the bastard himself. A regular natural Casanova._

The General had a phenomenal amount of patience when he cared to exercise it, but Edward was thoroughly insistent, imagining his eyes as little pins repeatedly pricking the smooth oval of Mustang's neck, until the Flame Alchemist turned back to face Ed.

"Is there some reason why you have decided to display your ability to subtly annoy, Fullmetal?"

"Oh, no," Ed replied, casually examining his fingernails in a slick imitation of the General's own habit of doing so, "just trying to guess if you actually powder the back of your neck."

For a split second, the General looked slightly irritated, but it passed quickly to be replaced by an expression of faint amusement.

"Hardly, Fullmetal. It only looks like that because it has been graced by the kisses of countless beautiful women," he replied. Somehow, however, his voice seemed to lack its usual edge, even if his response was typically smooth and lofty, as if he parodied himself. Ed decided against commenting on it.

"So…" he murmured, turning to the window, "what thing of beauty has kept you so captivated all this time?"

Roy's answer was short, simple, but concise. "The architecture."

Ed had been so caught up in the conversation between himself, Fury, Hawkeye and Breda that he had not noticed their transition from the periphery of the city into the city itself, had not noticed the sights beyond the glass panes of the windows. Now, glancing out, he was enchanted. From cobbled streets, there rose simple, elegant buildings touched with similarly graceful but even more intricate details than those in the town he had woken up in. Beyond them, however, were the true crowning glories: magnificent domes and spires reached towards the sky, amidst beautifully carved figures that grew out of the cool stone to sweep upwards majestically. Amestris was a strictly pragmatic society, with little in the way of such ostentatious ornamentation, and the minimalist, blocky designs that dominated the streets of Central were a stark contrast to these elaborate works of utter grandeur. Edward had never seen anything like it.

"This," Mustang breathed, "is Circe. Amazing, isn't it?"

Ed had never heard Mustang express such a sense of wonder before, and before he could help himself, he had turned to shoot him a look of undisguised surprise. Roy gave no indication that it had even registered.

"It's a beautiful city, Fullmetal. Drink it in, as deeply as you can. It may not be so for long," the Flame Alchemist said quietly, "I know when I came here so many years ago, I could not stop looking." It was almost like a prayer, the way Mustang was speaking, a note of reverence in his unusually gentle voice.

Neither spoke for a moment, watching the buildings roll slowly past, along with the slender roadside trees heavily laden with leaves in brilliant shades of orange, yellow and brown, and it was some time before Ed recalled the actual reason that he'd hauled butt over here, but somehow, for once, he couldn't find the words to verbalize what he wanted to say.

The minutes passed in silence, flowing past them in a way that made their loss felt acutely. Then the coach rounded a corner, pulling up at an exquisite wrought-iron gate, manned by a pair smartly-uniformed guards, faces perfectly stiff and expressionless. Through the curving iron bars, Edward could see a magnificent courtyard, complete with elaborate fountain and mandatory pigeons, sprawling grandly before an even more impressive domed building than those he had seen earlier.

_The palace._

The coach driver conferred with the guards for a short while, in the lyrical, rhythmic tongue of Aerugo, and the Amestris military officers found themselves being given a quick but piercing once-over by each guard. Finally, the gates were cautiously eased open, and the coach allowed to pass through.

A few middle-aged men stood waiting at the smooth marble staircase at the entrance, and they hurried over in a nervous group, bobbing their smooth, balding heads like sparrows in greeting to the Amestris officials. Ed almost wanted to laugh at their apparent timidity, until a tall, rather imposing figure emerged into the daylight, revealing a slightly younger male, his jet black hair slicked back smartly. He emanated an undeniably intense aura, that made Ed's left arm twitch involuntarily, an indication that he was dangerous. The Fullmetal Alchemist stiffened.

"Good day, gentlemen. I trust you have had a rather tiring ride?" the man greeted them smoothly, sweeping forward to sketch them a fluid bow, "Allow us to show you to your quarters, where you may have a short rest."

Ed turned his full attention to the man, studying him closely. His face was characterized by very sharp, high cheekbones and dangerously angular planes, steep cliffs that promised death from carelessness, and cold eyes that glittered like a snake's. That, however, was totally immaterial. What arrested Edward was the color of his irises: they were a deep, crystalline violet.

_Homunculus._

-

"Fullmetal! Why the hell did you _do_ that!" Roy whispered fiercely as they passed through the long corridors of the palace. Edward flushed.

"Hell, I really don't know, sir! I mean…" he stammered, feeling the heat shooting into his ears.

Mustang sniffed loudly. "God, we could've gotten turned away there! Can you imagine the Generalissimo's face if we had failed even before the assignment had really begun?"

Embarrassment spread in a fresh spurt, and the Fullmetal Alchemist hunched his shoulders sulkily and tried to block out his superior's words. To no avail.

"I don't believe you never knew that Aerugans often have purple eyes. Accusing Governor Biretti of being a goddamn _homunculus_ of all things, and then trying to-"

"God, Mustang, I just…you know…_reacted_," Ed protested, silently swearing that he would perform a private amputation of his remaining limbs if he ever did such a thing again. The General glared at Ed, and then turned to face forward again. However, it was not fast enough for Mustang to hide the little grin that quirked up the corners of his mouth. Ed scowled amidst his blushing; the fact that the Brigadier General Bastard was having a laugh at his expense was more than he could take.

_The only thing worse than adding insult to injury is adding insult to an already sufficiently mortified butt._

Ed couldn't remember when he had last been so devastatingly humiliated, and began to lapse into sweet fantasies of burying himself in the silken bed sheets he was certain the provisional government had provided for them when he got to his room, and refusing to ever emerge in his next three lives. He could only hope that word of his behavior wouldn't reach Central, or he'd never live it down; having the loud-mouthed, irreverent Breda and the mischievous Fury in the know was already enough to kill him, and chances were, they wouldn't be keeping it to themselves. Unless something far more exciting happened to eclipse it.

Fully caught up in his chagrined thoughts, Edward did not realize that the group had stopped, and he collided painfully with Roy's back, just managing to stifle a yelp of surprise. Muffled against the back of Roy's coat, Ed heard the officer who had been leading them announce, "Your shared suite is here; your belongings have already been unpacked for you."

Keys jingled and Ed peeked around Mustang just in time to see the grand doors being flung open. Opulence was definitely the word of the day here, as Ed could tell as he caught a glimpse of the rich burgundy velvets and gleaming gold leaf that decorated the entire room, and Edward suddenly began wondering what it would be like to live in such luxury, for once. Even as a State Alchemist, he was still a military dog, and as a military dog, he lived rather frugally, according to his own standards anyway. But it was fine with him, since it kept him grounded. Otherwise, he would become so detached from who he had started out as; deep down, he was just Edward Elric, not the famous (or infamous) Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Is there any form of security here?" Mustang asked briskly, and was answered with a sharp nod from the officer.

"Certainly. You have been assigned one of the most effective bodyguards currently in our service," he bowed as he spoke, and then called into the room in his native tongue.

One_? Are they really so confident of this _one_ man's abilities, _wondered Ed, peering into the room.

"At your service," came a soft voice from behind Hawkeye, who was last in line, and a tall, slender boy of about twelve years of age appeared, curving his narrow body in a graceful bow. The Fullmetal Alchemist had to bite back a gasp of astonishment.

_A young_ child_? Bloody hell, is this some kind of joke?_

The boy stepped forward, arms held relaxed at his sides, face carefully blank and utterly serious. He was very tan, compared to most of the fair-skinned Aerugans, and had soft, sun-bleached brown hair, cropped short on the sides, sticking up in tufted spikes on the top, and trailing a sharply tapered tail from the base of his neck. A single white stone glinted in his left ear. His dark eyes, turned to the floor, were beautiful and determined, and his slender lips gave him an unusually refined air, yet the simple white robe and flowing trousers he wore could not conceal the fact that he was very young. Ed thought that he would probably break like a stick if anyone landed a single blow on him. Yet…he had posted himself outside the room, so still and quiet that no one had noticed him.

_Still,_ Ed thought,_ stealth only means anything if he were an assassin, or a thief._

Politely, the Amestris military personnel bowed back, in acknowledgement of the boy, but Ed had his doubts. He would talk to Mustang about it later, he decided. Accepting a child as a bodyguard and putting him in danger was certainly not acceptable, not anywhere within the civilized world.

The boy knelt quietly by the door as the officer ushered them into their suite, pointing out each room and highlighting little details with regard to certain antiques and different elements of the architecture. Before leaving, he reminded them about the evening's arrangements, and assured them that Governor Biretti would be all right, small injuries like that were nothing to the seasoned fighter that he was.

As soon as the doors had closed behind the man, a soft chortle began issuing from Breda's mouth.

"Fabulous impression you've made, little Ed! Keep it up and you may just be Biretti's favorite alchemist!" guffawed Breda, whacking Ed hard on the back.

The youth reddened again, and pretended not to hear, figuring that at this point, ignoring Breda was the best thing to do. Instead, he strode over to Mustang, who had settled down into one of the plush crimson chairs to rest.

"Sir," he said softly, lowering himself to the carpeted floor beside the General, "don't you think that child is a bit young to be a bodyguard?"

"You evidently didn't do your homework, Elric. The Tsars always had their loyal bodyguards, the Einherjar, children who were trained in combat from the time that they could stand. They were bred solely as fighters, and their art is a high one, evolved over the entire course of their culture's progression. I believe that our little bodyguard may know more combat than you do," Roy replied evenly.

"But it's a little child we're talking about here, too young to take on a burden like this. I mean, hell, he probably doesn't even understand very much of what's going on around here," Ed protested a little angrily, staring hard at Mustang's impassioned face. Mustang just gave him a significant glance.

"How old were _you_ when you tried to revive your mother?"

That was all that the Fullmetal Alchemist needed in order to be shut up. Trying to hide his sulk while brushing back strands of hair that had escaped from his braid, he rose from his cross-legged position and made his way over to the kneeling boy, intending to get off on a better footing with this boy than he had with Biretti. Grinning, he bent down and asked, "Hey kid, you got a name?"

The boy raised his head, expression unnaturally sober, and Ed suddenly felt a hint of how Mustang must have felt when he had first laid eyes on Edward himself. He had been an intense adolescent himself, and at this recognition, a twinge of sadness tugged at his chest. _Was I this sad as well?_

The Einherjar blinked, not answering for a second, then said, "Vittell."

"I'm Ed, nice meeting you," Edward replied, glad for a rather less formal greeting than the elaborate protocol that had had to be followed when meeting the provisional government that afternoon. Or rather, would have been followed if it hadn't been for Ed's little interruption.

Vittell simply looked at Ed, and then dipped his head in a dignified manner, with a soft, "Honored, Ed sir," and returned to watching the on-goings in the room with a keen eye. Edward immediately felt silly, acting like such an idiot before this focused creature, whose dark eyes missed little, and whose small hands were striped with paler scars that spoke of past battles. Ed shivered to imagine this delicate-looking child involved in any sort of tussle.

_Damn, why do they all have to be so formal?_

It was unnatural for a child so young to be so terribly stiff and serious, and Ed was certainly far from being at ease with him. With an apparently nonchalant yawn, he walked back over to Mustang, who smirked loftily at him.

"I think you found that Einherjars are not so easily distracted from their work? They're highly disciplined, the best of the best," he murmured, an amused smile tingeing his lips.

"What about those who _aren't_ the best, then?"

Mustang's expression darkened, and he remained silent for a short while, his gaze lingering over the slight figure by the door, as if trying to look beyond him into the past. "They don't survive the training," he finally murmured, pity evident in his dark eyes. Ed's eyes widened.

"The Aerugans may have a very high culture, but the fact that they are still under the rule of a royal family just goes to show that despite all that, they are still highly traditional," Roy explained softly, before the youth's sense of justice was inflamed, "and I'm certain that you have an inkling of the reason why the society is still such."

"It's religion, isn't it? The 'opiate of the masses'," Ed muttered, remembering the turmoil in Lior, where the worship of the sun-god kept people neatly under the thumb of a false prophet. Roy nodded slowly.

"That's why, Fullmetal, when we make a move like this, we _are_ aware of the consequences. And thus, we have to weigh our options. I cannot deny that Amestris does have its own interests at heart here, yet it is also the people that we have to think of. Religion and politics have to be separated as much as possible, and we have to impress this upon these people. Why do you think the country is in such a state at this current time? Because the people have confused their gods with the lives of ordinary people, because they have assumed that their gods are real enough to take an interest in _their_ lives. And you _do_ know what the outcome of such thinking might be."

Ed sighed and scratched the back of his head, quietly absorbing the fact that Mustang had subtly rebuked him in now answering the question that he had posed during the meeting. "Yeah," he replied sardonically, "too well. Don't think I can forget."

"It's because of the fragility of Man's belief," Roy added in low voice, his eyes so distant that Ed couldn't figure out whether Roy had meant to say it aloud, or whether it was simply a thought that had slid out from between his lips, carelessly, overlooked because of distraction. He turned to Roy, but the man seemed to be in another world, a look of such poignancy on his handsome face, that even Ed felt his heart twitch at the sight.

-

_Damn. How could I feed Edward with the very bullshit that I can't believe? I'm not doing this out of any noble intention; it's only a job, that's all it is now. The only things that I said that I actually believe in, are the comments tending to my lack of faith in religion and humanity._

Running a hand over his face, Roy mussed up the short, thick strands of his jet black hair, and squinted at his reflection in his room's mirror.

_Hell. Don't get distracted, Roy, don't let these things sway you from what is at hand here. Focus. Okay, what have I learned so far today, besides the Fullmetal Alchemist's homunculi phobia?_

_Biretti is the key here; all the other governors are under his thumb. Not that none of them are weak, feeble old men, but he's the one with the most influence, with the army especially, since he was formerly the General. And none of the others have enough power to oppose him openly. What else…that they intend to keep a close watch on us, which is why that Einherjar is here. It seems as though they still regard us with some measure of suspicion._

With a sigh, Roy began swiftly buttoning up his stiff white shirt and threw his long, formal uniform over it, before slicking his hair back with a little bit of cream. They were to meet up with the two factions this evening and dine together, and it was more than necessary to be appropriately attired. He would have to be mentally prepared as well; there was bound to be tension at the table, and he would have to force the Fullmetal Alchemist to sit beside him, so as to ensure that he would not blurt out anything that would be considered offensive to either party. Or worse, try to jump Biretti again. At least everything else had been pretty smooth so far; Havoc and Farman had arrived slightly later, and were joining them for dinner. That relieved the pressure a little, but it was still a significant weight he carried.

Smoothing the finely-woven blue material that fell over his chest, he surveyed his impeccable reflection, and sighed. If only he was truly in as pristine condition as he looked; he was attired perfectly, but felt like an utter wreck inside. With the Fullmetal Alchemist here, the past had returned to haunt him, not an intention of the Elric himself, but merely a byproduct of his very presence. Just seeing the youth brought back memories of Roy's own energy and hope during those times, the very things that he had lost, simply because Roy now saw them in Ed. And Edward himself…

_I guess I still can't reconcile the child-Ed in my mind, and the matured Ed I see now, can I? Mustang, you fool._

_Maes, Maes, where are you? I need you now. You were the one who kept me grounded, the one who kept me going. Why the hell did you have to die? You are the one who managed to suppress the fool Mustang, and thus manifested the Flame Alchemist, the identity I bear today. You abandoned me._

Angrily, Roy tried to prevent the hemorrhage of childish emotions, stemming the flow with a silent chant of his own name over and over again, as if it were a ward against the darkness that threatened to break upon him. He'd not felt like this in a long time; it was only the Elric's presence that reminded him of his regrets. _Damn that brat._

Unable to tell whether he was talking about himself or the Elric, Mustang brushed his thoughts aside with a casual flick of his head, and slid his fingers into the gentle fit of his snowy gloves, not his ignition ones, but his good military ones. It would hardly be very reassuring if he displayed any open signs of suspicion. For good measure, however, he retrieved the well-used, arrayed pair from his gilded dresser drawer and began tucking them securely in the folds of his long coat, safely out of sight. That would take care of any hostile action, he thought vaguely. Now, if only he could construct an array that could dispel the melancholy that was dropping its diaphanous veils over him, an array to adjust the composition of his mood such that his interest in living was ignited to burn again.

As he tried to smooth away the gentle telltale lumps now forming little hills and crevices in his outfit, a sharp rap sounded at the door. Absentmindedly, he called, "come in," and nearly kicked himself when the Fullmetal Alchemist himself sauntered in, already wrapped in his black leather coat, the condition of the white fur trim at the hood indicating that this, at least, was one that he had not fought in and thus wrecked, _yet._

"Yes, Fullmetal?" Roy said, allowing a trickle of annoyance to lace his words. Edward appeared to not care.

"Oh, nothing sir," he replied, flopping onto Roy's bed in a flurry of brilliant scarlet and black, sending deep gorges shooting through the once perfectly straight duvet that bent the brocade roses into little distorted shapes. "Just wanted a little peek at your room. Mine's done up in burgundy, not exactly a very cheerful color, wouldn't you say? Hawkeye hasn't really complained, but her color scheme's some kind of rose color, which is definitely not her sort of thing. I thought Fury was lucky, he got all these rather soothing neutrals, but Farman's is downright awful, his kind of resembles a tree, all brown and green. And-"

"Is any of this relevant, Fullmetal?" Roy cut into Ed's rambling prattle rather curtly, even as he felt a bit of relief at having cream and gold furniture that was rather less outlandish as compared to Farman's agricultural woes. The youth hitched up and then dropped his shoulders in a gesture of casual indifference.

"Nope, not really. Just being rather less than hostile. Loosen up, Flame, dinner'll be tense enough already as it is. If it helps to relieve the stress on you, I might jump Biretti again, just for kicks."

Roy snatched up his cap which lay on his dressing table and set it atop his black hair carefully. "Do that," he retorted, "and you might find yourself devoid of a job, and possibly a country. Furthermore, I'll set Hawkeye and one of her famous taking-downs on you, let's see if you have enough skin to cover your back left after that."

"The former, I can handle. The latter…well sheesh there's a reason why no one's ever hit on her twice! I saw her hack to pieces that silly major some time back. It was bad enough without her shooting holes in his pants."

The corners of Roy's mouth lifted slightly as he recalled the spirit and spunk that had attracted him to the spitfire blonde in the first place, how he had first seen her beating the crap out of one of her fellow privates who had made the mistake of assuming that she was easy, and how that fire had never burned out in all the time that he had known her. Even if their relationship would never be the same again, he was glad that at least she wouldn't simply dissolve like so many others before her. Determinedly, he pushed the images of his dream out of his mind.

Edward, unnoticed by the preoccupied Mustang, took a deep breath, and began to twist his mouth around the words he wanted to say.

"So…er…sir. What's up with you and her, anyway?"

Roy jerked out of his memories, starting slightly, and almost couldn't recover in time, but managed to catch himself. "Wh- nothing, Fullmetal, nothing. I mean…" he stammered, "what are you insinuating?"

_Lord, _Ed thought, _and I thought he was supposed to be sharper than that. Although, of course, that was a cheap shot, knocking him when he's off-guard like that._ Ed decided he had to clarify with Farman whether the age beyond which one started to go downhill was thirty or twenty-five.

"Look sir," Ed said calmly, "if you do not want to tell me, I can't force anything out of you. I can't force you to look at me as an equal, if you choose not to." The youth's eyes snatched hold of Roy's and held them firmly, allowing Roy only the quickest flash of Ed's need to be acknowledged. Roy inwardly bit his lip, assaulted by guilt; he had been the same at that age, yearning for recognition, unconsciously and intrinsically aware that one's existence was defined by others. He could not look away.

The sound of the dinner bells broke the gaze they were sharing, and the next minute, Mustang was sweeping out of the room, leaving the Fullmetal Alchemist staring into thin air.


End file.
